Empire of Shadows
by cariaudry
Summary: Clary is the daughter of Valentine, King of Alicante, and she views her life as princess as something of an aging joke. She has only one friend, no mother, and a dark secret. It isn't until Jace, a slave, comes along, that Clary's life begins to unravel.
1. To Market to Market

To Market to Market

"Come away from the window, my lady," urged the young maid. "You'll ruin your complexion if you stand there too long. The glass, you know, it reflects the light doubly. That's what the scientists say, least ways."

"Oh, Isabelle, you don't really believe what those men say?"

Isabelle looked shocked at her ward's disbelief in science. "Your father pays them!" she said a little loudly.

"It doesn't mean they're right," she said softly. "My father pays them to give him answers, and as long as he gets answers, they keep their heads. It's in their favor to say whatever my father wants to hear."

Isabelle immediately fell silent; she liked her mistress, she really did, but she was worried that one wrong word might earn her a one-way ticket to the kitchens. She couldn't afford to have the little lady mad with her. "You're right, of course, Lady Clarissa," she murmured.

"Oh, don't call me that, Isabelle. I've asked you before to call me Clary," she sighed without turning from the window.

"It's respectful, my lady," Isabelle said simply.

Clary shrugged and focused her gaze on the market below. When she was so far above the ground in her tower bedroom, the workings of the people were unclear, but she saw the gate open and a herd of people being led in. Surrounding them were men on horses and vicious looking dogs, and when the men and women and children who made up the herd were cowering away from them.

"Who are those people, Isabelle?" Clary asked suddenly, signaling for her maid to come over. "All those people coming in the gates."

Isabelle approached cautiously. Clarissa was a strange mistress to have, and she was rumored to be peculiarly tempered. One moment, she was perfectly polite and fine, and the next, she was furious and ranting. It made Isabelle very nervous to be too near her. "Well, my lady, I believe they are the slaves brought from the last invasion. Wasn't your brother sent to some distant territory with conquest in mind?" Isabelle peeked sideways at her mistress to see her reaction. Clarissa's face was oddly blank at the mention of her brother: her eyes were glazed over, her lips pressed together, her unblinking stare oddly empty. "He's very brave, your brother."

For the first time, Clarissa stirred from her watch and leveled Isabelle with a stare. "Brave?"

"He goes to war," Isabelle said breathlessly. "He fights and kills and brings home riches, doesn't he?"

Clary's eyes hardened. "Riches, you think these are riches, miss Isabelle? Do you consider yourself to be one of the prizes my brother brought home?" Clary's cheeks were slightly pink now. "You were brought here a slave, yes? Your land conquered, your people slaughtered, and you, a slave to the king's daughter?"

Isabelle stuttered helplessly. "I-I just meant that your brother is a warrior. No offense was meant, my lady." Isabelle took a step back quickly. "And-and I am grateful for being brought here. I've been given a chance to correct my mistakes and my beliefs-"

Clary shook her head quickly, and just the slightest smile flitted across her lips. "Oh, Isabelle, don't panic. I wasn't angry with you. Sometimes I forget that you are no educated politician."

Isabelle snapped her jaw shut quickly. Clarissa was certainly the strangest woman Isabelle had served. "No, I'm no educated lady like yourself, but my mother taught me and my brothers our letters and numbers." She said this just a little proudly, but then tipped her head. "But I'm not lucky like you, my lady."

Clary's smile slipped away and she returned to her watch. "No, no you are not, for I am the daughter of the king. Child of Valentine Morgenstern, and you are but a farm girl made slave. I forgive you, Isabelle, please, do not worry."

Isabelle waited with bated breath for her mistress to give her an order. Clarissa set her on edge, and she almost wished she could go to the kitchens. "Would you like me to go, my lady?"

"No, stay here," Clary said. "Will you braid a ribbon in my hair, Isabelle? You are so gifted with hair."

Isabelle bowed. "It would be an honor. What color would you like?"

"Something bright for Market Day, something festive for our victory. My father would like that." Clary stood from her seat at the window and moved to her chest with in a flurry of bright skirts. She dug through the small chest and found a thick red ribbon. "This one, I want this one in my hair. It will match my gown."

Isabelle took the ribbon, marveling at the silkiness and then nodding to the settee for Clary to sit. Clary fell gracefully onto the seat and watched at Isabelle combed out her hair and began to work the ribbon into the strands. As she worked, Clary eyed her with a vague curiosity. "You have brothers, Isabelle?"

Isabelle jumped a little at being addressed by her mistress. "Why yes, an older brother named Alec, and a little brother named Max. They work here as well."

"And how did that happen?" Clary asked sharply. "I was under the impression that most of the men were killed during the raids?"

Isabelle paled. "We-my brothers and I-convinced the soldiers who came to spare Alec."

"How did you do that?" Clary asked shrewdly.

Now Isabelle panicked. Was Clarissa going to go to her father with the truth? She didn't want to be responsible for her brother's death. She couldn't bear it after her parents. "Well, my brother needed someone to look after him if I was moved somewhere else, and Alec is very capable with animals."

Clary smiled wryly. "I'm not going to report you. I was just curious." Clary returned her gaze to the mirror and smiled at herself. "Never mind, Isabelle. Just finish my hair, please."

Isabelle quickly braided the ribbon through the last strands of Clarissa's thick red hair, and then worked then entire braid into an elegant bun. "Is that alright, my lady?"

Clary stood and turned her head from side to side. "Excellent, Isabelle, now help me into my dress, and we'll be off."

"Where are we going today?" Isabelle asked as she helped Clarissa into a beautiful velvety red dress with gold trimmings and embroidery.

"Down to the market," Clary said simply. "I want to see the new slaves among other things."

"Will your father let you go?" Isabelle asked quietly

Clary went quiet a moment and pressed her lips together. "I will enlist my brother as an escort. Who knows, perhaps I will make another valuable fine, much like I did with you."

Isabelle stepped back and bowed. "Perhaps you will, Clarissa."

Clary stood triumphantly and viewed herself in the mirror on her wall. She was short with alabaster skin, red hair, and pair of emerald eyes. She was pretty enough, she decided, but no ravishing beauty. Not that it made a difference really, not when she was the princess, her royal highness, daughter of the king…

She snapped her fingers. "Come, Isabelle, let us find my brother and we'll be off."

Clary led her servant through the castle imperiously, people bowing out of their way as they passed down lavish corridors and wide staircases. Many of the ladies of the court who were there waved and asked Clary questions, hoping to win some favor, but Clary didn't care. She had very little interest in these women, they were airheaded idiots, they lacked enough common sense to do their own hair. When they reached the doors to the Throne Room, Clary nodded haughtily to men standing guard and they opened the double doors quickly.

Isabelle hung back, feeling nervous and terrified. Valentine was responsible for the death of thousands of her people. He had enslaved her and made her the servant of his daughter. He was monster and conqueror, and man to be feared. When she looked upon him in a hurried glance, she wanted to cry. He was tall and well built, with cold grey eyes and a halo of white blond hair. His face was carved like marble, the planes of his cheeks making his face harder. But it was the quality of dark power that simmered around him that made Isabelle fall back. There were rumors he was a sorcerer.

Clary strut through the doors with her head high. "Father," she said with a pleasant smile. "I would like to go to market today; I saw there were more slaves in market today. Perhaps I could find myself another servant."

Valentine flashed a smile. "My daughter, the economist."

"I mean to be," Clary returned with equal verve; her face was set when she added, "If you must, Jonathan can accompany me."

"I had planned it," Valentine said, and his eyes raked over his daughter. "I'll have him sent for. This will be an excellent way for you two to spend the day, especially after the most recent campaign."

It took only a few minutes, and Jonathan arrived. He surveyed the hall before him and smirked when he saw his sister. Jonathan was a handsome man, tall and lithe, well built, his handsome face capped with while blond hair like his father. Only his black eyes upset the perfect vision, because they seemed to be a void in his soul. He sauntered in, all contained grace and wicked eyes.

"Father, you called?"

Valentine laughed. "Your sister wishes to go to market, and I think I'll have you escort her. I trust you won't mind spending the day with your lovely sister?"

Jonathan rotated slowly until he had Clary in his view. Isabelle noticed that Clarissa's back snapped straight under his gaze. "I think there would be no other way to spend such a day." Jonathan smiled and walked over to his sister. He took Clary's hands in his and pulled her into a very tight huge, kissing both her cheeks. Clary stood very still and didn't say a word. "Shall we spend the day together, dear sister?"

Clary seemed to compose her face carefully. "It would be a pleasure, brother."

Isabelle watched the exchange and waited silently while Jonathan offered his sister his arms and then pocketed a number of coins from his father. They left the Throne Room in a silent group, Clary oddly blank in the face and Jonathan's dark eyes furtively looked at his sister. Isabelle felt a rush of excitement as she trailed her mistress out of the great doors and into the courtyard and warm summer air.

Clary was barely able to contain her excitement once they passed through the garrison at the entrance to the castle. They passed beyond the tall outer walls and were suddenly on a cobblestone road and heading into the bustling hive that was the market. Men and women were crying out their wares, waving them back and forth. Clary quickly found a way to free herself of her brother's grip and made her way purposefully toward the center of the market.

"My lady, shouldn't we stay with your brother, lord Jonathan?" Isabelle asked tentatively. "I mean to say, it is rather inappropriate for a proper lady to be out alone."

"I'm not alone," Clary answered firmly, pushing her way past a crowd of peasants. "I've got my servant with me, haven't I?"

Isabelle flushed a little. "Well, yes, but I don't see why can't wait for your brother."

"Maybe I feel like I don't need Jonathan with me at all times of day. I certainly don't think I need him holding my hand." Clary paused and shot Isabelle a very cold look. "I suppose you agree with me. I plan to spend as little time as I can with my dearest brother, and if you find that thought unappealing, you may want to find yourself another mistress who spends time in Jonathan's company."

"N-no!" Isabelle said hurriedly, trying to keep up as Clarissa took off again. "I didn't mean that. All I meant-didn't mean-"

"Then we are in agreement," Clary said stoutly. "Now hurry, I want to see the new lot of slaves."

Isabelle wondered vaguely why Clarissa Morgenstern was so interested in slaves, but she decided not to push her luck any farther with the princess. Men and women stepped aside to make way for a member of the royal family, and very quickly, Isabelle found herself standing beside her mistress before a raised stage where slaves were being walked and presented to the crowd.

Isabelle could still remember her trip across the stage, could still remember the eyes that fell on her as she was dragged forward and the fear that she and her brothers would be separated. She could still recall the sound of Jonathan's voice as he raised his voice and offered a ridiculously low price for her. She's looked around desperately, trying to reach out for her brothers, who came forward. They too had been bought in quick succession along with a number of other slaves, and they were taken back to the castle in chains.

Clary liked to watch as the new slaves were marched before her eyes. It was cruel and horrible, but it made the weight on her heart a little lighter when he saw others even more helpless than her. She'd spent so long living in fear…so long running away from nightmares…Clary smiled coldly at the slaves; she might be helpless, but she would never be like them. Someone might hurt her, but she could hurt them, hurt someone. Prove she wasn't weak and helpless.

The first few slaves brought out were poor stock. A woman with an ugly scar, a farm hand, a few starved children. Clary considered a brown haired young man with broken glasses and very pale skin, but decided he wasn't quite up to scratch. Clary glanced about, whispered something to a person beside her, and the kindly man vanished and returned with a small chair. She sat down and toyed with her gown while men and women were forced out, auctioned off, and led away by different people. Clary was about to throw her hands in the air and give up when her servant gasped excitedly.

"Oh, my lady, look at him!"

Isabelle, who had spotted the boy first, felt a mixture of excitement and pity. He was a handsome boy, her age probably, with the haughty look that suggested he had been someone's son. Isabelle flicked her eyes over his golden hair and eyes and skin, and thought to herself that if he had been born a girl, he would have been made into some man's personal slave. But he hadn't been born a girl, and Isabelle frankly had no idea what happened to handsome _male_ slaves.

Clary purred in a pleased sort of way, and smiled widely. He was exceedingly handsome she thought. He had golden hair, tangled a little, a good build, and an absolutely gorgeous face. The air of arrogance that he gave off intrigued Clary, since most slaves had given up hope by the time they marched across the stage, and she was drawn to it.

With a flourish, Clary stood and raised her hand. Anyone who had meant to make a bid on the boy fell silent and sat down. The auctioneer clapped his hands together and motioned her up. "Princess," he purred. "It's wonderful to see you out and about and frequenting my shop."

"You have good stock," Clary said, nodding at Isabelle, and knowing she was being cruel.

"You honor me." He bowed. "If you just head around the back, you'll find a number of tents set up. You'll find yours in tent B; he's number thirty-four."

Clary smiled brilliantly and gave him a polite bow. "Thank you."

Clary walked with a bounce in her step to tent with the big red B painted on it. As she entered the tent, the scent of sweat and fear rolled over her. She knew that smell well. All around, people were being paid for, their hands being bound together, their lives being changed forever. Clary walked up to the man taking coins.

"I've purchased thirty-four," she pronounced. "Bring me round to him."

The man seemed at a loss for a moment, and then stumbled into action. "Of-of course, he'll be just this way."

Isabelle and Clary followed the man through the tent; all around were makeshift corrals where slaves were chained by their wrists to poles. They came to pause by a corral in the corner, and Clary's eyes darted about until they landed on a golden head. The boy was sitting in the dirt in tatters of pants and a shirt. He was listlessly pulling at the cuff that held his wrist to metal pole, but his face was set in a passive stare. Clary liked his determination, it reminded her of herself…once.

"I don't carry any money on me," Clary explained, not taking her eyes off the boy. "My brother keeps it with him. Isabelle, go find my brother and tell him he needs to come pay for my purchase. I'll wait here."

"Yes, my lady," Isabelle said uncertainly. She didn't know where the prince might be, and she was half terrified of him.

With Isabelle gone, Clary drifted along the edge of the fence until she was beside the boy. He didn't seem to notice her approach, so Clary was able to observe the boy as much as she pleased. He was even more handsome up close, and it woke strange emotions in Clary. He was beautiful, and beautiful things were often broken by this world, and for just a moment, Clary was going to change her mind and send the boy somewhere else, somewhere far away from the nightmare he was unknowingly facing. But then she gave herself a mental shake.

"Good morning," Clary said with a half smile.

The boy started and then looked over her way. His eyes widened for just a moment, surprise and wonder mingling, and then he slumped forward, trying to be uninterested. "Good is the operative word."

Clary immediately liked him. "Alright, I'll give you that; I can't imagine it would be very comfortable tied up in here. But, I assume that someone will soon be moving you out of here."

The boy gave her a curious look. "Why are you talking to me? I'm a slave now, and you, lady, are obviously not. Who are you?"

"My name is of little consequence, but yours isn't," Clary said, her smiling widening. "You're very unusual for a slave, you know that? You don't act like one. You act like you're above your station."

"Maybe I was a prince before I was brought here?" offered the boy.

"I don't think so," Clary replied, eyes sparkling. "I don't think the king would allow a foreign prince to be sold into slavery here. I think the king would have brought the prince to the castle for interrogation."

"What would you know of it?" the boy asked, genuinely interested.

"I have my place in the court," answered Clary lightly.

"Your place with the king's son?" the boy shot back to quickly, sneering so slightly.

Clary's playful smile dropped almost instantly. Her face darkened and her eyes narrowed. "I am not Jonathan's woman."

"Oh, it's _Jonathan_ now, is it?" the boy pushed, sensing weakness.

What little joy Clary had taken from the boy vanished and she frowned. "Yes, it is, and you would do well to watch yourself, slave. I have a short temper."

"Is your temper dictated by your height?" he asked.

Clary rolled her eyes and smirked. "Give me your name, boy, for I am curious who you are."

"Give me yours," he returned.

"As I am a lady, it is polite for you to answer first, no?" Clary leaned against the fence, swaying her hips in a way that most men found attractive.

"You hardly behave like a lady," he pointed out, but turned his gaze away from her very feminine body. "My name is Jace."

"Jace," Clary said with a twist of her lips. "Your name is Jace. I like it, simple, short, sweet, nothing to remember trouble yourself with. A good slave name."

This seemed to annoy Jace, because he flushed and looked at her with cold eyes. "You like my name? Well, I'm glad you find it attractive, but I hardly care what a young woman thinks. I have more important things to worry about."

"You think so, Jace?" Clary asked, straightening up. "You think there is another person to whom you may owe your allegiance and service?"

"Well, as you said, I wouldn't be here unless I was about to be bought." Jace looked around. "So I have a master, and he is the only person who I need to worry about."

Clary burst out laughing, her voice both pleasant and horrible. She winked at him and turned about to face someone in the crowd. Jace craned his neck to see who she was signaling to, and watched at two figures emerged from the throng. One was a tall, pretty girl in servant's dress, the other was a handsome man with an arrogant look about him. He draped an arm over Clary and smiled at her.

"So, Clary, your little servant girl tells me you've found yourself another slave?" Clary smiled tightly and nodded her head at Jace. Jonathan turned his eyes on the boy. "This is him?"

"Clary?" Jace asked, staring at the man with his arm around her. "You're name is Clary?"

"Silence, boy," ordered Jonathan casually, reaching into his cloak and drawing out a coin bag. "This is my sister, her royal highness, the Princess Clarissa, and you would do well to remember it."

Jace blinked in shock and then slowly turned to Clary while Jonathan went to find the slave master. "Princess?"

"I told you to watch yourself," Clary said with a superior look. She turned her head with an elegant twist and watched while her brother paid the slave master for Jace. With a triumphant sniff she smirked at Jace. "And now, Jace, you belong to me."


	2. Introductions

Introductions

Jace sat very still on the bench in the castle forge, watching the smith as he fashioned the ugly metal collar. The flames leapt up around the metal band and then a hissing filled the air as he poured water over it. Steam billowed up and Jace flinched just a little from it. Then, the smith swung around, holding the collar up to the light to inspect it. Jace thought it was an ugly thing and reminded him of a horse bit, but he kept his face impassive.

"That's not going to burn me, is it?" he asked blandly as the smith approached.

The smith laughed. "Nope, not even a tingle, not that you need to worry about betting burned. You've got a long life ahead of you here in the service of the Princess, and I wouldn't bet you won't find yourself on the receiving end of a branding."

"Why do I have to have the collar and not a brand?" Jace asked, setting his jaw as the man walked behind him and opened the band.

"Not for Princess Clarissa," he said, cranking the thing open with a rusty screech. He fit it around Jace's throat and snapped it shut. "She doesn't like her servants to have marks on em. Thinks it's not right to burn you lot up for nothing."

Jace shivered just a little as the smith melted the ends of the collar together. He had never been bound so hopelessly and so inhumanly. When he shifted, the cold metal kissed his skin and ground his teeth together. It was going to take some getting used to. Jace looked up at the smith.

"So, am I allowed to leave?"

The smith gave him a once over. "You're to wait here until your section master comes to collect you. He'll take you about the castle and give you your duties. Just sit here, boy."

Jace watched him go back to his duties with a scowl. All he wanted was a bed to collapse in. He'd been up for hours, being driven without pause by soldiers, and living off of stale bits of bread. He wanted a bed and a pillow and a long dark night, but he suspected that none of that was waiting for him.

After another ten minutes of waiting, the door to the forge was pushed open and a bulky soldier ambled in. He greeted the smith with a few kind words, asking after his wife and their son, and then turned his eyes on Jace. Jace's first thought of the man was that he was as attractive and intelligent as a pig. His dark little eyes landed on Jace and narrowed to slits. His mouth worked, forming words that were probably making his brain hurt. Jace smirked.

"Wipe that look off your face, boy, before I wipe it off for you," he snapped, lumbering over and grabbing Jace by his collar. "Just because you're working for the princess doesn't mean I can't give you a good beating once in a while."

Jace chose not to answer and instead allowed himself to be dragged by the man out of forge and into stable yard of the castle. There were a few stable boys out giving the horses' legs a stretch, and a pleasant looking pack of dogs was running around, yipping for treats. The man led Jace through the yard and into the stables, where a back door opened to a darkened stairwell. They continued down the stairs and eventually came out in a large, underground hall. It was low ceilinged with flickering candles and torches and rows of dark wood tables.

"Welcome home," the man sneered, and gave Jace and jerk for him to move. There was a powerful looking man standing by the hearth in the hall, and when he saw Jace, he frowned a little but otherwise remained impassive. The soldier with Jace shoved him forward so Jace stumbled into the man. "Here's the newest runt for the Princess's collection."

The man eyed Jace, who stared back boldly. "He's got some airs about him, but we can fix that," the man said shrugging. "But this seems in order. Thank you, Brutus."

The soldier tipped his head and left, leaving Jace alone with what he could only assume was the slave master. The man began a slow walk around Jace, sizing him up carefully, his eyes unerringly landing on his torn shirt and pants. He scowled at the look on Jace's face.

"Well, you're hardly up to snuff, but we can manage. Now, follow me and I'll take you to your sleeping quarters and go over your duties." The man turned on his heel sharply and began to stroll away, Jace following him with a scowl. "Since you are in the service of the Princess, most of your duties will be determined by her daily needs. You will take on chores not fit for the maids she has in her employ, namely, taking care of her horse, keeping her room heated and lit, page boy, and other duty she asks of you. When you are not serving her, you will be assigned chores here." He turned to face Jace with a broad grin. "It's where you belong."

They had since turned down a long hall and were now standing outside a wooden door with the number twenty-one written over it in black paint. Jace studied it for a moment, wondering what might be behind it, and then the man threw the door open. It was a long windowless hall, beds packed tightly against each wall. It smelled somewhat foul and it was unbearably hot.

"Welcome home, boy." The man laughed darkly and took Jace by the scruff of his neck. "You will be woken every morning at six by a bell, from there you will report to the dining hall you were just in for your meal. You'll only receive two a day so don't skip it. After that, your chores will be divvied up." He eyed the collar on Jace's neck. "You will be recognizable by that collar, but there will still be days when you are given extra duties. You should be aware that kitchens, stables, and bedrooms all have slave masters who will give you specified chores. Here, we only tell you where to report."

"So organized," Jace said with an eye roll.

"You would do well to remember, boy, that you are a slave and are subject to punishments. There are many different types of punishments, not the least are whipping, branding, and, the most common for brats like you, beatings. Bear that in mind when you next decide to open your mouth."

Jace eyed the man and then very slowly opened his mouth wide and drew a very deep breath. The man watched and then smacked Jace smartly across the face. Jace recoiled, feeling the burning of a hand across his face, and placed a hand to his check in feigned shock. "That hurt," Jace said simply.

"Keep talking, boy, and you'll see what pain is." The man glowered at Jace and nudged him down the room. They came to a stop by a single cot with a careworn blanket and a lumpy pillow. "This is your bed. You will be in this bed _every _night unless you are called away by your mistress. We don't allow the slaves to fraternize."

"Can't imagine why not." Jace pressed down on the mattress and it made an angry sound. "It must be easier than having to enslave entire nations."

"We conquer nations, slaves are just an extra bonus," said the man with a smile. "This is your home now. Any spare clothing you manage to collect go on the floor beneath your bed. These dorms will be kept clean and orderly, and if we find any garbage you will be punished."

Again, Jace had the urge to say something back to the man, but this time he kept his mouth shut on principle and nodded dully. They left the dormitory and headed back to the dining hall where men and women slaves were collecting laundry into piles to be washed. The man led Jace to the large hearth on the east side of the hall. It was being tended by a slight boy with dark hair, big brown eyes covered by glasses, and a look of curiosity on his face. When they reached the fire, the man glowered at the boy.

"Scram, Max," he ordered without a glance for the boy.

"Yes, Master," the boy murmured, and, with a final look at Jace, hurried away.

"Now, Jace, listen here." The man took Jace's chin in his hand and forced Jace to stare into his eyes. "I don't know what the Princess Clarissa wants with you, but you are going to serve her loyally and respectfully. When she calls on you, you will come and do as she asks and _nothing _more. She is your master."

"I get it," Jace groaned, having heard the phrase more than once that day. "What can I do now, since I don't think I'll be attending to my new mistress?"

"Go help with the laundry." The man pointed to the people laboring over piles of clothing. "Stay there until after your dinner. By then there should be something of use you can do."

Jace turned away and rolled his eyes before surveying the work scene before him. All the slaves were working silently, none of them raising their eyes or moving from their position at the table. It looked very mechanical to Jace, who was still thinking about a bed, even if it was only the lumpy cot in the dorm. He lounged over to the tables looking for someone who was likely to speak to him.

Just as he made to stand by an older woman with her grey hair tied in a knot, he heard a soft giggle. Jace's head darted up, searching for the source of the giggle, and his eyes landed on a pretty girl. She was folding laundry without looking at it and smiling shyly at him. When she met his eyes, her smile widened and she waved faintly at him. Jace thought she was pretty enough, but not gorgeous, not stunning and stately. It brought up unwanted images of his past, of soft candle light and fine fabric, and there was a sharp pain somewhere in Jace's chest that he couldn't quash.

She looked away shyly, and when she returned her gaze quickly and saw him still watching her she waved. Jace thought she would be likely to tell him what he wanted to know, and made to move a step closer when he bumped into someone right next to him. He looked down in surprise and saw the same boy with the glasses who had been tending the fire. The boy, Max, looked slightly enraged.

"Watch where you're going," the boy said in a huff, glaring down at the pile of wood at his feet. "Do you know how heavy those are? I had to carry them all the way here, and if I don't keep the fire going the manager gets angry and hits me."

Jace felt a slight smile pull up his lips at the boy's indignation, and a frown crease his eyes at the idea of the boy being hit. "Let me help you, Max. I'll carry the wood to the fire and no one will know the better."

Before Max could protest, Jace gathered the wood in his arms and made to the hearth. When he arrived there, Max supervised him as he loaded the wood into the fire. He looked rather older than a young boy, and when the wood was in, he immediately went at the logs with a poker to make sure they caught. He was so serious it made Jace wonder what had taken the childish joy from his eyes. What part of his innocence had been crushed by the slave master?

"Thank you," Max said grudgingly, shooting him a look.

"It's my pleasure, Max," Jace replied, hoping to gain a little bit of trust with the use of his name. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the order of the household, would you?"

"No, Max wouldn't." Jace snapped up, not sure who he was expecting to see. It was a young man about his age, a little taller, with dark hair and very blue eyes. He looked uncertainly at Jace, his eyes shadowed be some secret or thought, and then reached out and patted Max on the head. "Max, go stoke the fire in the great hall. You know the king likes to keep it warm there, especially when dinner will be served soon."

"Alright," the boy said, and then, with a mischievous glance at Jace, said, "Maybe you can help me move the wood next time."

"Sure," Jace said, smiling under the gaze of the dark haired man.

"You're a new addition to the family retinue," the dark haired man said. It wasn't a question. "An addition of Clarissa's."

"What makes you think that?" Jace said, not unkindly. He couldn't tell if this person was his friend of enemy. He couldn't even tell if he was a slave or not.

"The collar. Only the personal slaves of the Princess have those." He paused, stared at Jace, and then said, "My sister has one."

Jace blinked. "Your sister is a slave? You're a slave." It was hard to spit the word out when it could be so easily applied to him now. "Wait…I've seen her, I think. Just in passing and just for a few moments. She's tall, with long, dark hair and brown eyes. I never caught her name. It started with an I…"

"Isabelle," he said at once. "Yes, my sister, Isabelle, is the maid to the princess. You'll probably get to know her pretty good."

"Why? If she followed the princess all over I'm not likely to see her," Jace said, looking over the boy's shoulders. The pretty, dark haired girl was watching him closely. "I'm hardly fit to be a maid."

"If you work for Clarissa, you will be by her." He shook his head. "Isabelle spends four nights a week in her rooms. The princess keeps her servants busy."

"Even if they're male?" Jace asked, stepping toward the table of laundry.

"I don't see why not." The boy gave Jace another searching look. "I'm Alec, by the way, and that boy was my little brother, Max."

"Alec," Jace said, testing it out. "And Max and Isabelle. I'm Jace."

"Can I ask how you got here?" Alec led the way to a table where the girl was folding laundry. "You don't look like the normal slaves they bring in. Were you the son of a lord?"

Jace scowled down at the laundry in his hands. "I wouldn't say precisely-"

"Hello," said a voice to Jace's left. He looked up, searching for a face to attach a voice to. Across from him was the pretty dark-haired girl. Up close, Jace could see the finer features of the girl, and he smiled faintly. She was a small girl, narrow through her entire body with an angular face, inset with dark sly eyes. Her thin mouth turned up when she caught his smile. "I'm Aline, and you must be the new slave bought for the princess."

Jace's eyes tightened a little. "I like to think of myself as a servant, not a slave, but yes, I'm in the employ of the princess."

Aline's eyes glittered. "I'd be careful if I were you…I didn't catch your name."

"Jace," he answered slowly. "My name is Jace."

"Well, Jace," Aline said with relish, catching Alec's eye. "I would be careful around the princess. I've heard _things_ about her…rumors…strange stories about her likes and dislikes-"

"You shouldn't listen to all you hear, Aline," growled Alec while Jace kept his face carefully blank.

Aline turned like a snake. "You like the princess Alec? Hoping she might fall in love with a slave? Well, it's not going to happen." Aline planted her hands on her hips. "You just like her cause she feels bad for your sister and gives her things."

"She likes Isabelle," Alec said quickly, sensing Jace's eyes on him. "And you wouldn't say no to free food either, Aline. You're just mad she wanted Isabelle and not you."

"Well, I don't think I would the serve the princess-the woman whose father killed my family-very well. In fact, I don't want to. I like being a kitchen maid much more than some pampered pet."

"I'm not a pampered pet," Jace said loudly. Alec shot him a grateful look.

"Just be careful you don't become one," Aline sniffed. "It happens to the princesses slaves. They're all lazy, thinking they're better than the rest of us."

"Oh, Aline." Isabelle emerged from the shadows of the hall and scooped Jace into a tight embrace. "Be careful with Aline; she's a tick, she'll suck your blood given half a chance. Well," Isabelle said, shooting a look at Aline, "she'll suck something."

Jace raised his eyebrows, but all he said was, "You're Isabelle?"

Isabelle smiled flatteringly. "I am, and your name is Jace, and I've been sent to bring you to the princess before dinner."

Jace cast around looking for his meal. "I haven't eaten."

Isabelle laughed, smiling maliciously at Aline. "You won't. If the princess likes you, she'll give you her food. She gets _loads_ of it delivered to her room. A few weeks ago she asked me what my favorite food was, and then, if you'll believe me, had it brought to her room every day as an 'afternoon snack'. She'll give you what you want."

Jace considered this then turned back to Alec. "I'll bring back food tonight, what do you want?"

"No, you won't," Alec said simply. "You won't be back tonight. Probably not tomorrow either."

"Why?" asked Jace quickly, ignoring the look of disappointment on Aline's face.

"Isabelle knows why," Alec murmured, and then returned to the laundry. "But I'll see you during the day, I suppose."

"Oh, Alec, you're ridiculous," Isabelle sighed, and then tugged Jace's arm. "Come on, I hate to keep her waiting."

Jace nodded in farewell to Alec and Aline, who was watching him like a hawk, and then allowed himself to be tugged off toward a staircase. He followed Isabelle up, wondering how long she had been living here to be so knowledgeable about the palace ways. They came out in the kitchens, which were warm and bursting with the scents and sounds of cooking food. They passed three huge hearths, each containing a pot of boiling something, tables where cooks and servants were cutting meat and vegetables, and ovens where the smell of fresh bread wafted out. Jace's mouth watered and he decided that he wouldn't have minded working in the kitchens with all the food so easily in reach. His eyes landed on a loaf of fresh bread, just removed from the oven and still bubbling in butter. He swallowed his hunger with force.

"Don't both thinking about it, Jace," Isabelle said as she led him through the kitchens. "The cooks keep track of what is made and what goes out like hawks. I saw a boy get beaten once for trying to knick a hunk of meat. It wasn't even the good cut. They were going to sell it at the back door for a quarter of the price."

Jace couldn't take his eyes of the bread as they walked away. "Well, I'll just have to be careful."

"No need," Isabelle said, exasperated. "I told you, Princess Clarissa will get you whatever you want. She gives me things all the time; food, bits of cloth to make clothing with, even paper to practice my writing. She offered once to teach me to write in the language of the Kings."

A small, cynical smile curved Jace's lip. "Language of the Kings?" Isabelle saw something pass through Jace's eyes, something dark and secret, but it was gone as soon as it had come. "Your mistress sounds like a fine woman, not at all the girl I met. Aline says she's strange."

"The Princess is a fine young woman," Isabelle said stiffly. "She's generous and smart and very clever once you get to know her. I think you'll enjoy serving her."

They left the kitchen and were in a small passage that led to the great hall. Already, the sounds of voices were echoing about, and Jace tried to peek out, but Isabelle grabbed his arm and tugged him through a side passage. "Still," Jace said as they made their way down a servants' corridor, "Aline must have had a reason for saying those things. Every rumor has a grain of truth, that's what I was taught."

Isabelle shot him a sideways glance, looking very uncertain. "The Princess is not _strange_ per say, she's just-well, she's just very temperamental."

"She's crazy?" Jace asked at once, reviewing his last conversation with her.

"No!" Isabelle had come to a stop and was looking slightly confused. "She's not mad or anything, she's very smart. Most educated woman I've ever met. She's just very…hard to _judge_ sometimes. She is very kind to me most of the time, but then she has these moments when she says mean things or does things that are very unkind. She makes me feel very small sometimes."

Jace vowed then not to be made small by a girl shorter than him. "Then she is not a kind woman?"

"No, she is, Clarissa really is a lovely person," Isabelle said, walking slower now. "Sometimes…it's hard to explain…I feel like she's living somewhere else, somewhere very different with its own pleasures and pains, and I get a glimpse of that place every time she speaks to me, and sometimes, good things happen there, and sometimes, bad things happen there. I just get caught in the draft."

"She's distant then?" Jace asked as they sped up and came out in a very lavish hall, decorated in thick carpets and gilt paintings.

"Only sometimes," Isabelle amended. "She is often very lively and direct. I feel like she's always watching something. Not me, but something."

"She seems odd," Jace said frankly. "Not the woman I would want to spend time around."

"You'll grow to like her. She a very good woman, very generous. Sometimes," Isabelle said softly, glancing about to see that no one was near her. "Sometimes, I feel like she wants to be my friend, to confide in me, but then she pulls away. I think she may be very lonely."

"She's a princess," Jace said without a blink of the eye. "She's got loads of friends, all of them willing to listen to her secrets. She's got plenty of suitors, all of them, begging to be taken into her confidence. Why would she need us?"

"I don't know," confessed Isabelle, "but I feel like she wants to have slaves around her rather than other ladies of the court."

"I'm not going to be her best friend," Jace said clearly. "I'm going to do as she asks and smile while I do it."

"You wait," Isabelle tossed over her shoulder, and then she tentatively turned the handle or a large, ornate door.

Jace followed Isabelle in to a large parlor room. The fire there was crackling cheerfully, casting a warm glow on the chairs and table and rug that sat before it. All along the walls were bookshelves filled with thick, leather volumes, and between the shelves were gorgeous paintings, displaying landscapes and people and animals and anything. On the far wall, opposite the door, was a set of large windows that gave a perfect view of the grassy slopes and flowering gardens of the castle.

They had just taken a few steps in when a low growl made the hairs on the back of Jace's neck stand on end. He spun around just in time to see a monstrous, black dog advance from the shadows. The dog, or maybe it was a wolf, Jace couldn't tell, came slowly forward, its glowing in anticipation of a kill.

"Isabelle!" Jace called, but he turned and found that she had gone. The dog drew nearer and pulled back its lips to reveal a pearly white set of fangs. "Stay, dog, stay. Isabelle!"

Jace backed farther and farther into the room, trying to find something he might use to fight against the dog. Its hackles rose and Jace could clearly see the claws in its paws extend out. The dog rested back on it haunches, ready to leap into what was going to be claw slashing action. "Isabelle!"

"Down, boy," laughed a sweet voice behind Jace.

Jace whipped around and found none other than the Princess Clarissa standing in the glow of the setting sun. She was dressed flatteringly in green and gold, and her green eyes were glowing playfully. She lifted a delicate hand and brushed the stray strands of her red hair off her face. Jace felt his mouth go dry and he was surprised by how very striking he found her. She reminded him of the ladies of the court he knew, women who were kind and generous and gentle; not the women of this court who were hard and cruel to a point.

"I hardly think that wolf can be called _boy_," Jace said with a raised eyebrow.

Clary laughed, a lilting sound like a bird. "I wasn't talking to Luke, Jace," she said with a very knowing look.

Jace felt a little bit of heat raise to his cheeks, and he already began to understand what Isabelle had said. She was charming and intelligent, but there was a look in her eyes that told him her mind was far away. "That beast has name?"

Clary passed by Jace, her skirts swishing, and laid a hand on the wolf's head and rubbed it. The wolf, Luke, growled low in his throat, very pleased. "This beast, as you so crudely named him, had saved my life twice, and my dignity once, which is much more than you have. So I dare to say I will be calling _you _beast until you do as much."

Jace shot the wolf a scowl. "Is your life so desperately in need of saving?" Jace refrained from mentioning the second part of her sentence, but wondered what she meant by it.

"Occasionally." Clary bent and kissed the wolf's muzzle. "Go on, Luke, back to guard duty, Jace won't be hurting me tonight." Luke eyed Jace with all the power a wolf could, and Jace did wonder how powerful those jaws might be, but then he padded over to the rug before the fire and curled into a ball there. Clary smiled after him. "He's the most loyal animal you'll ever know, and possibly the smartest."

"I don't know, I've known a witty horse or two in my time," Jace said with a crooked grin.

"That doesn't always mark intelligence," Clary answered sharply. "Though perhaps you, with your dependence on sarcasm, may not believe it."

_There's the sharpness Isabelle mentioned_, Jace thought. "I do enjoy a bit of cynicism every now and then."

Clary gave him a once over. "Be that as it may, I haven't the time to debate the finer aspects of rhetoric, thought I suspect with you, I will soon be considering it an enjoyable pastime."

"Everything I do is an enjoyable pastime," Jace answered smartly.

"I do hope so," Clary said, and it sounded like she meant it. "But you'll have to enlighten me later, as I have a dinner to attend. See to the fires in my rooms, keep them burning and keep an eye on things. Feed Luke as well." Clary turned to leave and made an imperious gesture to Isabelle, who hurried out with a book in her hand. Jace watched the two women leave the room, closing the door with snap. He stood in shock for maybe ten seconds, thinking how strange Clarissa was, when the door opened once more and her red-haired head appeared.

"Oh, and I've ordered food for you, so help yourself to a meal. You look half starved."


	3. Family Matters

Family Matters

"Well, if it isn't my dear sister making her appearance at last, and with her milk maid in tow, how charming."

Clary felt her lips tighten into a very painful smile at the sound of her brother. Behind her, Isabelle blushed furiously but kept her mouth shut tight; there was nothing to gain from fighting with a prince. With a very elegant bow and a sweep of her arm, Clary greeted her brother before the court, and everyone smiled indulgently at the princess. They liked her far more than her brother, and there was pity in their hearts for the girl with no mother.

"Perhaps I like to keep my company simple and secret, very much unlike yourself, Jonathan, as it seems you have _no_ friends to keep your confidence." Clary's smile turned into a smirk, but Jonathan smiled back.

"I keep my own confidence," he answered, and then offered Clary his arm. "Come, sister, Father has been waiting for you to arrive. We would never start a meal without precious little Clary." The bitterness in his tone was not mistakable.

"As you'll have it," Clary said and took his arm, signaling with her hand for Isabelle to follow closely.

The crossed the great hall under the gaze of their peers, Jonathan scowling regally and Clary smiling coquettishly and waving to her wide array of acquaintances. Most of the women of the court seemed to find her a mite bit odd, being so small and strangely delicate, but there was also a sense of power and mystery that drew them closer. Not that it made any difference in the end; Clary didn't make friends with the ladies of the court.

Valentine smiled widely when he saw his daughter, his stony eyes landing on Clary's hand in her brother's arm and darting back up to her face. For some reason, his piercing gaze always made Clary feel dirty, and she turned her face away from his powerful eyes. Valentine waited a beat and then faced the crowd. "Well, perhaps we might all take our seats for dinner. I believe they will be bringing the food soon."

Everyone sat as one and after a pause, servants filed out of the kitchen stairwell with dishes and dishes or food. Clary watched as the food was placed before her and her brother, being her escort, cut her the best pieces of meat and served her the freshest vegetables. He smiled down at her and Clary saw a predatory light in his dark eye that made her draw away quickly. As soon as the food had been passed around, voices rose in conversation.

Clary usually managed to avoid much of the talk with those around her by feigning a deep interest in her food. She would sit and pluck at it delicately, taking time to cut the meat all the way through in small portions, sipping at wine and water like it was the last drink she was going to have. Behind her, Isabelle would stand in silence and wait for orders from her mistress, watching as her masters ate and celebrated and she starved. Tonight, though, it seemed her father was in a rare mood.

"Clarissa," he said, turning in his seat to face her. "Jonathan told me you purchased another slave for your personal staff. A boy this time."

Clary chewed her food thoroughly, planning her response. "Yes, I did, Father, and he looks like a very sturdy thing. He'll make an excellent runner and page boy, and something of a horse master I think."

Valentine measured these words. "I would prefer you to keep maids on your staff; I don't like the idea of this boy living so close to you. It might stir up suspicion."

Clary feigned a look of shock. "What do you mean, Father?"

He frowned, and behind him, Jonathan's face hardened angrily. "I mean to say that you are a young woman and he is young man, and I would not want ideas spreading that you are spending too much time with him. Time that might be used for less than respectable things."

With a charming blush, Clary took a small sip of her win. "Why, Father, you're not suggesting that I would…_fraternize _with a slave, are you? Because I am well aware of my position and place in this kingdom. I would never in my life do anything that was less than _respectable_ and _honorable_ and _proper_." Clary's eyes had moved from her father's face to her brother, who was now pointedly looking away, but she saw a muscle move in his jaw. "I am a Morgenstern, and that name is above reproach, and I will _always_ behave in a manner suiting my title."

Valentine's face was expressionless for a moment, and then a shadow of something passed through his eyes. "I would like you to remember that in the future, Clarissa, when it comes to choosing your servants, that is all." He sliced his meat rather violently, and Clary was glad she had upset him, but then he turned to her again. "But the boy, he's a sturdy worker, you say?"

"Very," Clary said with a sniff.

"And his name?"

Clary paused, thinking quickly. "I hadn't thought to ask. Isabelle, what was the name of the boy I bought?"

Isabelle stirred and swallowed loudly; she so rarely spoke before Valentine. "I believe it was…Jace, my lady."

Clary turned curtly to her father. "Jace. His name his Jace."

"And what does he look like?"

Again, Clary had to think fast. Her father never asked anything just for the pleasure of conversation, and he was obviously searching for something in her answers. "It was hard to tell, Father, he was so covered in dirt and grime. But, if I had to venture a guess, I would say he was taller than me and shorter than Jonathan, with yellow hair and eyes."

"Yellow eyes?" Something in Valentine's eyes glowed hungrily, and there was a note on interest in his voice. "Such a rare color for eyes. I can't remember the last time I met a person with eyes that color."

_You're lying, Father, _Clary thought. She knew that much by the way his eyes were glowing. "Yes, he was quite striking, well, as striking as a slave might be. Perhaps he might even be handsome, but I wouldn't know, I have little interest in _that _slave market." Clary's eyes moved momentarily to her brother, who lifted his head.

Valentine laughed. "Ah, Clarissa, you are the most charming daughter, and so witty." And, because Clary could make cruel innuendos, Valentine returned the favor with verve. "But, if you so choose to follow that course, I ask that your indiscretions be discreet. We must keep our family secrets."

Jonathan's lips curved up then and he straightened his back. "Father, I hardly think little Clary understands what you're talking about. She's had no mother figure in her life to teach her such things, I would hazard a guess that she'll remain our sweet, innocent red head forever."

"Innocence is so overrated, don't you agree, Jonathan?" Clary shot back with her small smile.

"I don't want to hear that from my daughter," Valentine warned.

The court had been completely unaware of the bitter exchange between the Morgensterns, and were surprised when Valentine stood abruptly, bringing the meal to a halt. A few of the brighter ones seemed to notice there was a slight tension in Valentine's shoulders, but then it faded and no one was any the wiser. Valentine smiled at them all, the last vestiges of tension fading, and he clapped his hands.

"I think we may be done with dining, no?" He looked around and many of the members of the court nodded. "Perhaps some dancing is in order?" This was followed by polite applause and the people stood and wandered into a circle.

It had been a custom for the longest time to have Valentine and Jocelyn lead the first dance, but now that there was no Jocelyn to dance, the duty had fallen on Jonathan and Clary. Clary had wondered hopefully when her brother was going to take a wife. If there was a new princess, she would no longer be required to be his partner in all things. He was her escort, her dance partner, her classmate, anything but a brother.

Regardless, the two swept onto the dance floor and waited while the musicians struck up a cord. They had been partners forever, and so were perfectly attuned to the other's moves. They twirled about the circle of watcher, dipping and spinning and moving in time with the other. There was a contained grace about their dance that could easily be confused with the familiarity of lovers, but the distance between them that suggested siblings.

When the music picked up speed, Clary was forced closer into Jonathan's arms, but she kept her head up and her eyes on the watching crowd. She knew what they were thinking, the snakes masked in their gold and silver, and she knew that were waiting. Their eyes followed her hungrily, looking for that slip, that tell, that horrible truth. She made her eyes blank to the world, but it didn't stop the voices, the whispers, their murmurs that followed her.

_Look at those two, such sweet siblings, dancing…_

_Dancing like sweethearts…_

_Like lovers…_

Clary's grip on Jonathan tightened and she felt her heart begin to beat faster. She kept turning in the music, it was the only thing she could do.

…_His hand on her hip, so gently…_

_So intimate…_

_Their bodies so close…_

_Her hand in his…_

She didn't know how much more she could take, how much more of the secret and lies. It was choking her, sucking what little life she had left. Jonathan spun her faster, and she slipped into his arms so that he could lift her when the music reached a higher pitch, and as she fell back down, it was like descending into hell.

_Their eyes all over each other…_

…_it's there, in their eyes…_

_Look, you'll see it…_

_Desperation…_

…_hunger…_

_Desire…_

The music ended and Clary jerked back so sharply that Jonathan had to grab her around the waist. There was mild applause and bright, false smiles all around her, except on her father. Valentine stared at her speculatively, his blank eyes devouring her, and she turned to look anywhere but at him. When the applause ended, Clary broke away from her brother and pushed her way through a circle of dancers.

"That was quite a fall," Valentine said the moment Clary sat down. "Was that intended, or did you feel faint?"

The music had begun again and men and women were turning around the dance floor. Clary's heart was still pounding in her chest and it hurt to breathe. With a dignified sniff, Clary snapped her fingers and turned about. "Isabelle, will you fetch me a small bowl of salad and a glass of water, please. Dancing has seemed to put me out of sorts."

Isabelle bowed, happy to be away from Valentine. "Of course, my lady."

When Isabelle had gone, Clary titled her look to her father. "I am over tried and did not wish to dance, Father."

"Oh?" Valentine watched Jonathan spin the floor with a girl in his arms. "Then I suppose we must give our thanks to Jonathan for catching you, no?"

Clary bristled at the mention of her brother's name. "Speaking of dear Jonathan, when is he to be married. I believe the time has come for another princess to join the family."

Valentine gave her a sharp look. "Your brother's future wife must possess certain qualities that I have yet to find in another woman."

"What must the girl be like?"

"She will be queen," Valentine said, as if that should explain everything. "She must be like your mother. I will settle for nothing but the best in a future queen."

"You will be hard put to find another woman like my mother," Clary said without thinking. When she looked over at her father, his face was stiff with pain. "She was a rare woman."

"Who knows, perhaps she had a daughter with another man," mused Valentine. "Perhaps I will find another red haired, green eyed young woman to sit on the throne."

Clary frowned. "If Mother had another daughter, wouldn't she be Jonathan's half sister?"

"Perhaps," agreed Valentine, giving her a sideways look. "But there is more to blood than you would know."

"Of course," Clary nodded. "And what of my marriage, Father?"

This time, Valentine did look mildly surprised. "Are you thinking you would like to put an end to all the fun I hear you get up to in this castle? If you are made a marriage, there will be no more freedom. You will be bound to your husband."

"Mother mentioned an engagement," hedged Clary.

"Yes, I'm sure she did." Valentine didn't seem to like speaking of his wife because his face darkened even more. "But that boy is long dead now. Died in battle."

"Did he?" Clary asked casually. "I had just assumed that when Mother died, my engagement went with her. I never even heard the boy's name."

"You were too young to know it anyway, but it doesn't matter, I have already begun to make a great marriage for you. One that will give you all the power you possess and even more."

"Curious," said Clary, trying to glean something from his blank face.

"You will see when the time comes," was all Valentine said before turned his attention back to the dancers. Jonathan had just finished another set with some woman and was bowing her away. "I think there are some men who would not say no to you joining the dancing."

"I have no wish to dance with those boys," sniffed Clary, and then Isabelle returned with a plate of salad and a glass of water. "I am _overtired_."

Valentine rolled his eyes and nodded to the musicians to continue playing. Jonathan set his face into a look of pleasant distance and led another woman out by the hand. Clary picked at her salad fastidiously and sipped her water, not speaking to her father purposefully. Isabelle watched the strange display and tried to understand what she was seeing when Clary suddenly pushed her chair back and stood.

"Well, I've had enough for one night, I think," Clary pronounced. "I will retire to my rooms for the evening."

With these words said, the court stopped their dancing and stood in attention to Clary and waited patiently while she descended the raised platform where the high table was, curtsied perfectly to her father, bowed her head gracefully to her brother, and then faced the musicians and waved daintily at them. Then, as if the court weren't even around her, she swept from the room with her head up and her eyes forward.

Isabelle hurried after her, trying to remain silent but failing as her shoes clacked on the stone floors. She watched her mistress's form and marveled at the straightness of her back and the set of her shoulders. She looked like she were about to enter a very violent fight, and was preparing for the first leap to dodge of blow. When they reached her room, Clary turned about.

"Isabelle, I will only need you to attend to a few more chores this evening," Clary began, and Isabelle was surprised because her voice sounded so hard. She had thought Clary was going to yell at her. "I know you missed dinner so I'll send for something to be brought here."

Clary threw open the doors to the room, Isabelle following her in, and surveyed her small fiefdom. Luke was still by the fire, but the slave boy was nowhere to be seen. She frowned just a little, but then gave herself a shake and snapped her fingers to Isabelle. "Come, help me dress for the night and tell me what you want to eat."

They passed into Clary's private bedroom, which was also devoid of Jace, and reached out and rang a bell by her bed. She wasn't sure how the sound travelled, she suspected that if wasn't even the bell that summoned a person, but the rope itself that pulled a bell somewhere else. Regardless, there was a knock on her door five minutes later, and a young woman came forward.

"You called, my lady?"

"Yes," Clary said imperiously. "I did. I would like a plate of chicken and corn and biscuits brought up as quickly as can be." She glanced over at Isabelle questioningly. "And a goblet of wine. Don't forget the wine."

The servant bowed and left the room, repeating the order to herself. Clary then strode over to the dressing screen, Isabelle following her obediently. With skill gained from numerous repetitions, Isabelle unlaced the corset of the dress, slid the gown down Clary's body and draped it carefully over the screen, undid the ties of the undershirt, tossing that with the dress, had Clary sit as she removed the girls stockings, fetched a night shift, which she tied Clary into, found a dressing gown and held it while Clary slipped her arms in. When they finished, Clary eyed herself in the mirror and pursed her lips.

"Would you like me to brush your hair out?" Isabelle asked tentatively.

Clary smiled wanly. "Only until your meal arrives."

Clary sat on the settee before her armoire and watched as Isabelle removed the pins from the intricate hair design and ran her hands through the heavy locks, removing any large tangles. She then went about with a brush, sweeping through Clary's hair over and over, humming softly to herself. She continued for five minutes straight before the girl returned with Isabelle's food. Isabelle carefully set the brush down and sat at the small table in the bedroom, eating as quickly as she could.

When she had finished the corn the chicken and one of the biscuits, she stood, waiting for Clary to notice her.

"You're excused for the night, Isabelle," Clary said over her shoulder. "And you need not come early tomorrow and see to my bath, I'll see somewhere else to it. Just join me here at ten in the morning."

"Thank you, my lady," Isabelle said breathlessly. "Goodnight."

Clary nodded regally. "Of course."

Isabelle bowed herself from the room and hurried to the door. Clary waited, listening to the patter of her feet and sounding of the door closing with a soft snap. She sat for a second, and then rose quickly and hurried after Isabelle, making for the door and the lock. She had just laid a hand on the handle when a derisive snort sounded behind her. Clary spun about like a snake.

She released a panicked breath. "Ah, it's just you. I had wondered where you had sequestered yourself in my rooms."

Jace gave her a once over. "You have a wonderful sitting room and quite a book collection." For some reason, Clary thought the boy was making fun of her.

"I didn't think you could read," she said, coming away from the door. "Most of the slaves here can't."

"I'm not like most of the slaves here," Jace answered, and he produced a thick, leather bound book. "But, if you're curious, I wasn't technically reading."

Clary's eyes widened. "Where did you get that?" she demanded.

Jace opened the book, revealing pages of paintings. "I found it on the mantle. I thought that once my chores were seen to I was allowed to relax."

"I never said that," hissed Clary. "Now give me that book."

Jace spun away with it. "Why?"

"Because I am your mistress, and you are bound to obey me," she said imperiously, but Jace just smirked at her, so she added, "And if you refuse, I will have you beaten."

"I think I'll risk the beating to learn why you want this book back so badly," taunted Jace, and his eyes sparkled. He was going to let the girl know now that he wouldn't be belittled.

"It's none of your miserable business, slave!" she snarled. "Now give it to me before I summon a guard."

"You know," Jace said, flipping through the pages, "these are actually quite good. Who made them?"

Clary was shaking with rage, something that rarely happened to such a controlled young woman. She felt a terrible urge to fling herself at the boy and strike him hard, and her hand twitched, itching for the small blade her father had taught her how to use. She took a deep steadying breath as Jace continued to slip through the images, pausing over a few to stare longer. Clary closed her eyes, though, and when she opened them, smiled horribly. She drew back a step and lifted her chin proudly. Jace glanced up at her and grinned devilishly.

"Would you like to say something?" he asked politely.

"Seek, Luke, seek!"

Jace frowned in confusion, but only for a moment. Perhaps three seconds after Clary spoke, the wolf hound lunged from the rug before the fire, covered the space between himself and Jace, and pounced on him with a vicious snarl. Jace, completely unprepared, dropped the book and raised his arms to cover his face, but Luke struck him with all his weight, and Jace fell back on the floor with a painful thump. Luke pinned him down, not biting him, but snarling and snapping his jaws dangerously.

Clary laughed loudly and took her time coming over to Jace. She stopped to pick up the thick volume and dust the cover off, before setting it on one of the tables around the room. When she reached Jace and Luke she rubbed Luke's head and gave him a small kiss. Then she looked around the dog and smirked down at Jace.

"You don't seem to understand a command from your mistress, which may prove to be a problem." She knelt beside him and turned his face to hers. Jace glimpsed a strange look in her face, one that was mixed with pity and excitement and anger. "I don't like to punish my servants, in fact, I find it revolting, but if I must, I will. You will _never touch this book again_, Jace. Do you understand? It is very valuable to me, and I don't want your hands all over it."

Jace swallowed and glanced at Luke. "Will you call your hound off?"

"Not until you say you won't touch this book," Clary said simply. She looked at Luke's teeth. "If you refuse, he'll maul you, and wouldn't that just be a pity for such a pretty boy as you."

Jace's yellow eyes narrowed, but he cleared his throat. "I swear I won't touch that book again."

"Then I think," mused Clary, "we have nothing more to discuss. Luke, heel-"

"Clarissa," boomed a voice from the door.

Jace saw a swift look on panic cross Clary's face and her lips soundlessly form the word "door", before she blinked and set her shoulders. She stood up with snap and found her brother standing in the door, viewing the scene before him with curiosity.

"Jonathan, I thought you might still be dancing," Clary said in a measured voice.

"Father said you were ill…what are you doing to that slave?" he asked, catching Jace's eye. "Why is that dog of yours attacking him?"

Clary swallowed loudly. "Jace and I had a small misunderstanding, I was just clarifying it for him."

Jonathan's face turned from curious to furious. He stormed across the room and pushed Luke off Jace. He lifted Jace up and shook him sharply. "What have you done, you insolent whelp?"

Jace was surprised by the look of fury on Jonathan's face. "I was reading a book," he said blankly, and nodded at the book on the table. Jonathan looked at it and his eyes widened angrily. Behind him, Jace saw Clary flinch at his words.

"That book belonged to my mother," he hissed, "and you got your filthy, slave hands all over it? You should be whipped for such a thing."

"That isn't necessary!" Clary called at once, coming forward. "I have spoken with Jace and he understands. He was very apologetic and has promised not to touch it again-"

"Silence, Clary," Jonathan snapped. He returned his focus to Jace. "You're lucky I am not your master or I'd have you lashed within an inch of your life, but as it is…" Jonathan's hand moved faster than Jace thought possible. The first blow stung, the second made his eyes water, and the third sent a painful tremor through his jaw. He glared up at Jonathan, but he looked murderous. "You're not to have food for three days."

"Jonathan-"

"No, Clary," he said sternly. "This boy should learn his place."

"I am his master," Clary said, and Jace gave her a strange look. Not two minutes ago she was threatening to have her dog maul him, now she was rising to his defense?

"And I am the future king, and no matter who owns him, my power will _always _supersede yours." He tossed Jace away from him, and watched as he stumbled into a table. "Get out of here."

"Stay," Clary ordered loudly, and Jace glanced at her. "Go stoke the fire in my bedchamber and fill a bedpan with coals. I have no desire to catch my death while I sleep."

Jace blinked once and then fell back, still not quite understanding what had just happened between brother and sister. He passed quickly into her bedchamber and went to the small hearth where he poked at the coals to stir the flame to life. As the fire grew, Jace tried to make sense of Clary's actions. She had stopped her brother from whipping him, but stood by while he was hit. She hadn't banished him from her room, so it might stand to reason that she was going to feed him. It seemed as if she liked control, and exercised it with caution and necessity, but not to such excess as her brother.

With the fire blazing, Jace found the bedpan at the foot of the bed and began to scoop coals into it. As he was placing the pan itself into the flames to keep the coals hot, he head muffled sounds and then a loud yelp from beyond the door. Cautiously, he pressed closer until he could hear.

"…is wrong," Clary said. Jace thought she sounded tired and scared.

"I'll decide what is right and wrong, Clary," answered her brother. "And you're one to talk about right and wrong, what with that slave running around your rooms. People will start to talk."

"What do I care what people say? Jace is mine, I used my money to pay for him, and he serves me."

"There will be gossip. It is one thing to keep that Isabelle girl, but having a man in your rooms is inappropriate. People will think you bought him for pleasure-"

"Then let them!" crowed Clary. "Who knows, maybe I am? He's certainly a handsome slave, and I think I am allowed to have my dalliances. Who will deny me? Who will tell me no? Who has the right-"

Clary's voice was cut off and Jace heard the echo of a resounding slap. His eyes widened in shock. Had Jonathan just struck his sister?

"I have the right," he snarled. "You're mine, Clary, and I'll tell you what you can and can't do." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't _ever_ let me hear you saying those things again. It's revolting, the whole thing, and look what you made me do!"

Clary drew a ragged breath. "What I made you do?"

"Yes, you bring this out in me, Clary, it's your own fault." Jonathan said loudly, and Jace heard his footsteps as they approached the door, followed by the sound of low growls. "And if I hear one word, one whisper, of you dallying around with that slave boy, I'll have him sent to the Cellar."

The door slammed, Luke snarled, and Clary let out a shuddering breath before her feet headed in the direction of her room. Jace dashed back to the fire and removed the bedpan to cool just as Clary threw open the doors and came in. He thought one of her cheeks was redder than the other, but they were both flushed, so he couldn't tell. She shook out her hair, which looked ruffled, and untied her night robe as if he wasn't there. After she draped it over her chair, flashed a glance in the mirror, and rubbed her eyes she stood and faced Jace.

She didn't look shocked or embarrassed to find him there. She looked oddly blank, like she was ghosting through the world. "Ah, the bedpan," she said in a lifeless voice. "Yes, very good, Jace, I'll have it under the sheets." She crossed the room and curled up under the blankets. Jace thought she was very strange, letting him see her in her nightgown, but her face still looked blank and uncomprehending, so he carefully lifted the sheets and put the bedpan near her feet.

"I'll go," he said, thinking of his bed in the hot dormitory and the horrible stench that was going to cling to him.

Clary leaned back in bed with a book and didn't seem to notice him until he was to the door. She looked up, startled. "Oh, no, stay for the night. Sleep in the study, will you? I've given Isabelle the morning off so you're to run my bath and wake me at eight in the morning sharp. Anyway," she said, and a small, distant smile curved her lips up, "there will be food here in the morning, and I don't care what Jonathan says, you're going to be fed."


	4. Passing Fancy

Passing Fancy 

"I don't think I saw you last night."

Jace stood up, his stiff back protesting the sharp movement. He had been dumping out buckets of used water, and the task seemed to require him to use all his back muscles. Carefully, he placed the bucket down and turned to face the speaker, only to find the sly dark eyes of Aline resting on him. She smiled at once, all full of fluttering eyelashes and dimpled cheeks and waited for him to reply.

"I had duties to attend to," Jace said simply.

"The princess is demanding, isn't she?" asked Aline, sympathy clear in her voice. "She harps at Isabelle all the time, and always, those long nights in her chambers, taking care of her."

Jace glanced at Aline warily. She seemed to be searching his face for answers, and he realized that Aline was hoping to hear some gossip from him. Obviously the fact that he had spent the night in her rooms was enough to spread around, but there had to be more. And Jace knew there was. He had heard the fight, heard Jonathan arguing with her about her reputation, the ominous smack to her face, and then the threat on his own life. That was surely what Aline was looking for, but Jace didn't want to give it.

For some reason he couldn't quite name, Jace didn't want the world knowing about Clary's argument with her brother. Maybe it was because she protected him when she didn't have to, maybe because she fed him when he otherwise would be starving, maybe it was because she was beautiful, or maybe, it was because of that terrible look she wore when she walked through the doors of her room last night. That look of blankness that Jace had mistaken was impassive. He knew it now as fear, hidden before the eyes of her peers. Clary was afraid of her brother.

"She didn't have me taking care of her," Jace answered. "I'm just dumping the water from her bath. One of those chores I have to do, I guess."

Aline seemed disappointed in Jace's lack of gossip, but she quickly replaced the look on her face with interest. "Would you like some help? I don't have to be back to the kitchens for another ten minutes, and I wouldn't mind helping the new kid. I remember when my first work day started-"

"No, but thank you all the same," Jace said, and he bent down and picked the buckets up. "There's still water left, and the princess's horse needs to be shoed. Maybe I'll see you tonight."

Jace made to leave, but Aline raced after him, making sure her skirts swished around her hips invitingly. "Well, maybe I'll see you in the stable; I find myself there often enough. I love animals, and they seem to love me."

For some reason, Jace thought Aline wasn't just going to show up in the stables to feed the horses. He gave her a sideways look. "No, don't get yourself in trouble, Aline. I would blame myself if you came to meet me and were punished for it. I'll come to the kitchen for lunch and look for you then."

Aline's face brightened and she nodded excitedly. "I'll hold you to that, Jace."

Jace smiled as best he could and nodded. "Alright."

For a moment, Aline held his eye, checking for sincerity, and then she broke into the widest smile in the world. "I'll have warm bread and cheese waiting, I promise."

"Sounds good," said Jace, but there was no warmth in his voice. He nodded faintly and then turned and left. It was a tiresome walk, trudging back through the farm yard, into the kitchen, up the stairs, through the silent halls, and then back to the princess's room where the tub was still waiting. He paused to glower at water, but it was water, and it didn't care. He heaved a sigh and placed one bucket into the tub. It came out heavy. "Just what I want."

"Is it really?"

When Jace turned around he found Clary standing in the door to the bathroom. Her hair was tied back into an elegant bun, a smart riding hat pinned to her hair. She was in a cream and gold dress today, and Jace felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her. She looked like a vision in the morning light and the sparkle in her green eyes was wicked.

"Well, I can think of a few things I would want more," he hedged, making his eyes glow. It became apparent that Clary was not going to discuss what had occurred the night before.

Clary entered the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe. She looked out the window. "Curious."

"Perhaps a day in the sun instead of being trapped inside all day?" Jace said with a quick glance up Clary's body.

"A wonderful idea!" Clary clapped her hands. "I wish to go for a ride and Luke needs to take a run. Go down to the stables and saddle my horse."

Jace placed the bucket down and looked to the water. "And who will take care of this?"

"Who cares?" Clary asked, and she swished away, her hips moving in a trained seductive way. "Just have my horse ready in an hour and half. Isabelle!"

Jace followed Clary over to the door and watched as she took Isabelle by the hand and pulled her aside for a private chat. Isabelle brightened almost at once and then bowed quickly before hurrying out of the room. Clary watched her go and then waved a finger at the wolf hound by the fire. Luke looked up and padded over. Clary stirred and turned sharply over to Jace.

"What are you waiting for, Jace? Go on, down to the stable," she said with a wave.

Jace shrugged, left the bucket on the tile floor, and headed out of the room with a small smile. Clary watched him go with a sly look on her face, and then leaned against the frame of her bedroom. He was oddly silent, though she was sure he must have overheard something of the night before. She wondered how far the word had gotten, and what exactly had been said.

Slowly, Clary returned to her bedchamber and sat on her bed, looking out into the world without seeing. She had suffered so long at the hands of her family, and it had morphed her from an innocent girl, willing to love, to a hardened woman. A woman with a hunger for power.

A hunger to not feel helpless anymore.

There was a gentle knock on her bedroom door and Clary glanced up, wondering who would come to her private quarters instead of sending a servant to her. The door opened on its own accord and there stood Jonathan. He looked a little lost, a little angry with himself, but when he met Clary's eye, he gave her a small, half smile. As was her custom in such cases, Clary straightened her back and returned his smile with her own icy smirk.

"How nice to see you again, brother. What can I do for you this morning?"

Jonathan came forward, and his face showed just a hint of relief that Clary wasn't going push the subject of last night's events. "I've come to see how my sister is, and to see if I couldn't brighten her day. It seems I misplaced something in my recent travels and it slipped my mind, but, after seeing you so mature and beautiful last night at dinner…well, I immediately set to finding it."

Clary tilted her head curiously. "And did you find it, brother?"

"At once," he said and joined her at the bed. He sat beside her, looking at her with something more than affection in his eyes, and then reached into his coat pocket for a small thing wrapped in fine satin. He presented it to her. "I hope you like it."

Clary carefully took the gift from her brother and unwrapped it. A small, gold chain uncoiled in Clary's hand, and at the end of it, was a cut stone. It took Clary a moment of carefully studying the stone to see what it was. A small ruby had been cut into the shape of a rose, and it had been inset in an emerald that had been cut into the shape of leaves.

"This is beautiful," Clary said softly. "Wherever did you find it?"

"Something I picked up on my journeys," shrugged Jonathan, watching as Clary spun the chain and pendent between her thumb and forefinger. "I thought it suited you."

Clary smiled at the pendent and then placed it on her bedside table. "It's a pretty piece. I shall wear it for special occasions."

Jonathan's smile fell just a little. "Only special occasions? Why not always, sister, as a reminder of your ardent admirer, your brother? I must insist," Jonathan said, and then he reached past her and plucked the necklace up. Before Clary could protest, he had strung it around her neck. "It looks all the better around your neck then where it was before."

Clary felt the weight of the necklace almost at once, and something else with it. There was something about the band around her neck that made Clary felt as though everyone would know Jonathan had given her a gift, and everyone would know what it meant. She shivered delicately, but pressed her lips together until the corners turned up. Jonathan had stood and was looking down at his sister with glowing eyes.

"You're a grown woman, sister," he proclaimed. "An adult, finally. Perhaps you'd care to spend some time with people of your own sort today? I myself was planning a rousing time with some of our better peers. Would you care to join us in the courtyards?"

An image flitted across Clary's mind of the people Jonathan spoke of. The young men and women who flocked to the court seeking advancement in the king's favor, and, lacking that, companionship with the prince or princess. It was common knowledge that both Clary and Jonathan were still not betrothed, and so there was always the chance that a lucky man or woman might catch their eye. They were scavengers come to feed off of hope and hide their thoughts behind bright smiles and glowing eyes.

"I've another engagement to attend to, Jonathan," Clary said briskly, standing up and heading for her dressing table where she set bout retying her hat. "I'm going for a ride today, and I plan to be gone a long while."

Jonathan frowned. "You'll need an escort."

"I have acquired one, brother," Clary said, her eyes gleaming at him. "Please, don't trouble yourself with your little sister so new come to adulthood. I shall be perfectly fine without your watchful eye on me."

"I must insist," pressed her brother, joining her at the table and giving her a hard look.

"As must I," replied Clary. "It would be terribly rude of you to abandon your friends when you have promised them a _rousing _good time, and we must always be courteous to our courtiers. A prince, soon to be king, cannot risk alienation from his court."

"But a princess can?" countered Jonathan, though he knew he had already lost.

"A princess will never rule, a princess will never choose her future, and," Clary said with a hard look, "a princess will never choose her friends. I will go for ride, and if you are so concerned, please, speak with father."

Clary knew how little her father cared for her activities, and her brother knew just as well. "I see you will not be dissuaded," he said stiffly. "I suppose I will see you at dinner tonight then."

Clary stood by the door and bowed him out. "Yes, you will."

Jonathan spared her one last glance before turned sharply on his heels and strolling out. As soon as he left, Clary gave a sharp whistle and listened to the frantic padding of feet as Luke came bolting into the room. The huge dog scampered into the room and pounced on the bed where he watched Clary carefully. When she smiled at him he barked and his tail began to wag.

"You want to go for a run, Luke?" Clary asked brightly. "You want to go hunting?" Luke barked again and Clary joined him at the bed to rub his ears. "Yes, I think a whole day in the sun and fresh air will be wonderful. We'll have Isabelle with us, and I know how much you love her. And Jace will be there, and you _do_ have a certain fondness for him too, don't you?" Luke's ears perked up at the name, as if he already knew who the boy was and how he felt about him, but he tongue lolled out anyway.

Clary rose and peered out her window onto the castle green. She could spy a few young women playing bowls while some on the gentlemen of the court watched them and tried to serenade them with playful sonnets. Her nose scrunched up in distaste at the scene and was all the more thankful that she was not forced to spend hours with those people like her brother. Not only was she the youngest of Valentine's children, she was a girl, and so her duty to the people was to smile when called upon.

She pressed her lips together and looked back at Luke. "I really do hope that Isabelle chose good food. I have no intention of staying that long at dinner tonight; not if I have to listen to those mindless chickadees chatter."

"Then I'm most sorry, my lady," came a timid voice from the door. Clary flicked her eyes up and saw Isabelle standing in the door looking nervous. "I couldn't get _any _food."

Clary frowned slightly, but not enough to scare the girl. "And why is that? You have never failed me yet."

"One of the kitchen maids didn't…_believe_ that I was sent by you for picnic food." Isabelle looked down at her hands. "Perhaps you can send another servant down? Someone with a little more standing than myself."

"And who was this kitchen maid who didn't believe you?" Clary asked with a raised eyebrow. "My personal servants are not usually challenged."

Again, Isabelle seemed nervous, but she swallowed and stared straight forward. "I believe it was Aline, my lady."

"Aline?" Clary searched her memory quickly, her fingers making a strange motion in the air. Isabelle thought is looked like a symbol, though she couldn't be sure. "Ah, yes, she was brought in with you, wasn't she? Yes, I remember now, they showed you two together. She seemed very adamant that I should have hired her personally."

"Yes, I knew her a little when I lived on the farm," hedged Isabelle. She kept the aspects of her personal life from the princess as best she could, and the rivalry between the two girls had been very pronounced.

"Then I'll attend to it," said Clary decidedly. "Come, Isabelle, back down to the kitchens."

Isabelle's mouth dropped at those words. The very idea that the princess should have to go to the kitchens herself to have her food prepared was ridiculous. The kitchen was a place for the servants and the poor, not for a young woman dressed in fine clothing and dripping with jewels. But Clary bustled past Isabelle imperiously and waved after her. Going back to the kitchen took much less time than it had at first, and before Isabelle knew what had happened, Clary was opening the door to the kitchen and gesturing her in.

Aline's eyes narrowed when she saw Isabelle sidle into the kitchen again. Many of the workers greeted her with smiles and waves, and a few of the younger children came up looking for handouts. She mussed their hair and tried to laugh at a few of her friends, but she seemed preoccupied. Aline continued to frown; she had never quite forgiven Isabelle for being the favorite of the princess while she was sent off to the kitchens. Now that Jace had joined Isabelle's company, Aline could barely hide her contempt for the girl.

"Back so soon, Isabelle?" Aline said loudly as she cut a fresh loaf of bread into thick slices. She eyed the fattest one and wondered if Jace would like it. "I'm not going to give you free handouts when you already get them; go back to the princess."

"Aline-" Isabelle said with warning, but she was cut off.

"She did go back to the princess, and the princess was not pleased with what she heard."

The kitchen fell into complete silence in the course of ten seconds, only the crackle of a hearth and the bubble of cooking soup sounding in the background. Clary emerged from the door and, dressed all in cream and dripping in jewels, cut an imposing figure. She surveyed the people before her with an imperious glance and, very slowly, smiled politely.

"Please, don't trouble yourself with me, good people. I've just come to see to a small meal for myself." She gave a sweet little laugh. "Sometimes, even princesses must sneak a snack."

The tension in the air seeped out of the room and many of the people laughed along with her. Clary waved them away back to their duties, and then swished over to Isabelle, who was standing opposite Aline, the counter and food separating them. A few of the other women in the kitchen peeked over to see exactly what was being said between the princess and the maid.

"My lady," Aline said, and dropped into a clumsy bow. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Clary's smile slipped just a little. "Aline, I expected you to be busier."

"Busier?" she stuttered, her eyes jumping to Isabelle for an explanation. "Whatever could you mean?"

Clary's gaze dropped to the bread so perfectly cut, and she snatched a piece of it for closer inspection. "I sent Isabelle down here to gather me a lunch that I would take with me today. She said you refused her. I can only assume that you were so busy, so _behind _in your work, that you had no opportunity to prepare us some food. But now, I come here, and find you idle."

"That's not at all what happened, my lady," Aline said breathlessly. She knew about the temperament of the princess, she knew how quick the girl would turn. "Isabelle came to me saying she was looking for food. She never mentioned _you, _Princess; I can assure you that if she had, I would have at once given her what she asked for. You see, I had thought she came asking for food for _herself_, and I cannot give food out to anyone. Even if she is my friend."

Clary raised one eyebrow. "I was under the impression that Isabelle _told _you she was here on my bequest."

"She said no such thing-"

"And even if she hadn't said as much, you could have assumed it, no?" Clary said over Aline's protests. "Isabelle is my personal maid, I _hand picked_ her, so it would stand to reason that she was performing a chore for me, wouldn't it?"

Aline flushed, looking down at the bread she was cutting, and swallowed loudly. She was in a delicate position now, caught between the penetrating gaze of the princess and the accusing eyes of her biggest rival. She wanted to dive at Isabelle and slap her, but with the princess defending her, Isabelle was suddenly untouchable. And worse, Aline was suddenly the disobedient servant. "I hadn't thought of it, my lady."

Clary, who had been smiling condescendingly at Aline up until that point, frowned suddenly. "No, it is very obvious you hadn't thought of it, or I wouldn't have had to come down here. I am the princess, the daughter of Valentine, your king, and I have been forced to come down to the kitchens, to the realm of the servants, and argue with a slave girl. I am most disappointed."

"I-I am sorry-"

"You should be," Clary said sharply. "And not just to me, but to Isabelle. She is my friend, a trusted companion, and you have disrespected her. You have disrespected me."

Those who were listening whet pale; the princess had been disrespected by a slave. Usually, this resulted in the slave being killed. Aline seemed to understand the position she was in because she dropped into a hasty bow, struggling to find words. "I _never _meant to, princess. I was just mistaken…"

"You were," Clary agreed, shooting a look at Isabelle. "And in my family, mistakes are never taken lightly."

At this, Aline's eyes darted up to meet Isabelle's with a silent supplication. She looked desperate enough to apologize to the girl, even if she hated her. "Please, my lady, if there is anything I can do…"

"There is," Clary replied, and she leaned against the counter, smiling ever so slightly. "You can apologize to me, which goes without saying, apologize to Isabelle, and then you can prepare our lunch. I'm on a tight time schedule."

"I am most sorry, my lady, it will never happen again," Aline said breathlessly, before swallowing her pride and facing Isabelle. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you before, Isabelle." Isabelle shrugged and glanced at the princess, trying to copy her demeanor. "And I'll have your meal ready right away."

"That's all I ask," Clary said calmly, offering a very condescending smile and eyeing the bread on the table before her. "And I'd like that bread as well; it's cut so well and it looks so fresh."

Aline blinked quickly, thinking of the meal she had promised Jace and the time they were going to have together. If the princess was leaving now, Jace would surely be free soon and she didn't have time to steal another loaf. Her hand stretched out and her fingers traced the cuts of the bread. "Are you sure you want this loaf, Princess? It's old, chilling already, perhaps you might like a fresher loaf, something warm?"

Clary shot Aline a dark look. "I want _this_ loaf, Aline, and will settle for nothing less."

Swallowing her complaints, Aline gathered the bread and wrapped it in a cloth regretfully. She hurried off to the shelves to find a basket and began to fill it with food stuffs. Clary watched as Aline placed a covered plate of turkey, bowl of potatoes and salad, the covered loaf of bread with butter, some type of chocolate treat, and a flask of wine. She brought it back resentfully to the table and handed it to Isabelle without a word.

"Thank you, Aline," Clary said with a tip of her head and turned on her heel and stalked off. Isabelle hung back and held the gaze of Aline.

"I told you," murmured Isabelle with a slight smile.

"Why did you have to do that?" demanded Aline passionately, watching Clary recede. "Do you have to ruin everything?"

"I'm doing as I'm ordered, Aline," Isabelle sniffed, and then turned sharply and followed in Clary's wake.

At the stair case Isabelle overtook Clary, and she smiled faintly when she came upon the princess. "Well, Isabelle, I think that went well. I'm sure Aline will not fail you again. Though I was a little disturbed by her insistence over the bread. I wonder what is on her mind today."

"Or who," Isabelle murmured with glowing eyes. Clary paused to study her face carefully, and her eyebrow raised in question. Isabelle smiled a little, feeling like a school girl again. "Well, I think it's common knowledge among those of…of my standing, that Aline has been casting eyes at Jace."

Isabelle's news had no effect on Clary, and it was as if she had been discussing something as trifling as the weather. Clary's face didn't change, didn't break into a smile or a dour frown; it looked like it was frozen, and Isabelle suddenly felt nervous. Then, just as Isabelle was about to say something, Clary tossed her hair and laughed aloud.

"Really, Isabelle?" she asked, giggling now. "Aline thinks my new servant is a handsome boy, does she?"

"Well, milady," Isabelle said, feeling a smile pull at her face. "That's what everyone says."

"My, my, my, I'll just have to see that," Clary said, and she burst into giggles again.

Isabelle found herself laughing, and realized in shock that she and the Princess, the most powerful woman in the kingdom, were laughing together like two schoolgirls. Clary reached out and looped her arm through Isabelle's in a show of friendship unlike any other she had yet seen. They ascended the stairs together, arms locked, and heads close to one and other in a whispered conversation.

"I can only imagine how she feels toward you, Isabelle; I mean, what with the time you spend with him," Clary murmured. "No wonder she wouldn't give you food. She's very much jealous of you."

"Do you think?" Isabelle asked, wondering how she had so quickly been taken into Clary's confidence. "I can't imagine why."

"Oh, she thinks you and Jace are going to fall in love, I've seen it all the time among the ladies of the court. Quite a show really." Clary laughed again and caught the eye of a lady in passing. The woman gave Clary a shocked look to see her with her slave, but Clary winked and the woman uncertainly smiled back. "It's the only interesting thing that keeps me coming back to court."

"Perhaps she's jealous of you, milady," Isabelle suggested.

"Perhaps," Clary said, the mirth leaving her voice, but her smile still in place. "But who wouldn't be? I'm the most powerful woman in this land, and richest, and, I dare say, one of the most beautiful. I have wonderful prospects, a future of grandeur awaiting me. She ought to be jealous." Isabelle suddenly felt misplaced by Clary again. One moment they had been giggling together, and now, Clary had returned to that world of hers. A place Isabelle could barely understand, and place she would never be a part of.

"We are all envious," Isabelle said, trying to appease the princess.

Clary shot her a look, and her smile was gone. "Well, don't be, Isabelle. Material possessions like wealth will never get you where you want. I'm certainly not happy with them."

With a swift motion, Clary removed her arm from Isabelle's and then threw open the doors to her room. Luke came rushing forward, and torn piece of something in his mouth. He dropped it at Clary's feet, where she retrieved it and studied it; it was a piece of cloth from a shirt.

"Where did you get this, Luke?" Clary asked, frowning at him. "Have you been mauling a slave?"

"No, but not for lack of trying," came a very annoyed voice from Clary's room. She looked up and saw the doors to her sleeping quarters opening carefully and Jace's golden head peeking out. "That dog is a beast!"

"Oh, what would you know of it?" Clary shot back, and she rubbed Luke's head. "He probably thought you were trying to ambush me. He was just doing what any good guard dog does."

Jace came out, closing the door with a snap that sent Luke into a fit of low growls. "Oh, shut up," Jace hissed. "I came here to tell you your horse is ready, and we can leave whenever you'd like."

"Splendid," Clary said, running her eyes over Jace's torn shirt. She'd have another one made for him, something of finer make. "Isabelle, have Max fetch the lunch for us and meet us at the stable."

"He has chores, milady," Isabelle began, but Clary waved her hand.

"I have a gift for him," she said with a gleam in her eyes. Clary was gone in a wink, vanishing into her room where she headed for the window seat. There was a small collection of stuffed animals from her childhood, and Clary removed a love-worn dog from it. "I'm sure he'd like a new toy, yes?" Clary said from the door.

Isabelle bowed. "Always, milady," she said breathlessly, and backed toward the door. "I'll get him at once."

Clary tipped her head. "Wonderful."

Jace, who was standing a few feet from Clary, was staring at her with hard eyes. What was she playing at, giving the slave boy her toys? He cleared his throat and made to move to her, but Luke saw the movement and launched himself at Jace. When Luke hit Jace, he went down with a heavy thump, and tossed his hands over his face. Clary was caught between a laugh and shout.

"Get him off me!" Jace ordered angrily. "Clary, get this dog off me!"

Clary swished over and leaned over Luke, who had pinned Jace down. She rubbed Luke's ears and he relaxed, slowly backing off Jace's body. Clary expected Jace to jump up and threaten to have Luke made into some type of clothing, but he just lay on his back, staring up at her with a curious look on his face.

"Are you well, Jace?" Clary asked.

"Where did you get that?" Jace whispered hoarsely. "Where did you get that necklace?"

"What are you talking about?" Clary demanded, not liking the look on Jace's face.

"The damn necklace!" Jace snapped, sitting up suddenly and catching the small rose in his hands before Clary could stop him. "How did you get this?"

Clary pulled back furiously. "My brother gave it to me, now let go of it before you break it. I said let go!" Clary raised her hand without thinking and made to hit him. Jace caught her hand without thinking and held it a safe distance from his face. "Let go of me, Jace!"

Clary's cry seemed to have alerted Luke who snarled. Jace dropped the necklace suddenly and pushed her away. His face was shadowed when he glanced back at her. "Forget it, it just looked familiar."

Clary was still simmering over Jace's powerful grip on her arm. "Well, I can't imagine why. Only the best could afford to have it. Where would _you_ have seen it?"

Jace rolled onto his feet and stared down at Clary. His face was indiscernible, and his eyes dark with some memory. When he spoke, Clary thought his voice held all the frustration and anger in the world. "Just in passing."


	5. Breadcrumbs

Breadcrumbs

The sun had glazed the summer grass, turning the fields and flowers into a riot of color. The air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle, and the bees were buzzing lazily, drunk on the blooming flowers. There was no breeze, no shuffling of tree leaves, just the sound of animals scurrying back and forth and birdsong. As Clary's horse made it way down the dirt road, little tufts of dirt kicked up behind. She thought it looked like a trail leading all the way home.

"My lady, I'm so grateful you let me right today," Isabelle said breathlessly. She was riding behind Clary on a breeding mare gone to seed, but she seemed overjoyed at the prospect. "My family only owned one horse, but he was old and we used him to pull a plow. I could never ride him."

"I can imagine it would be hard for the horse to pull a plow with any added weight," Clary replied lightly, rubbing her mare between its ears. The horse tossed its head and whinnied in response. "These horses, though, are of fine breeding. The best in all the land. We bring them from all over, and we breed the best of the best. My mare, Desmond, is a fine thing, a thorough bred, of course."

Isabelle craned her head to get a close look at Desmond. She thought the mare looked fine indeed, but didn't see much of a difference between the mare the princess rode and the one she was sitting on. After a closer inspection of herself and the princess, though, she resituated herself on her mare, trying to replicate the way Clary sat. She very carefully straightened her back and tried to swing her hips along with the movement of the horse.

A soft snickering made Isabelle twist around ungracefully in the saddle. Walking along behind the two women, stepping on dirt tufts the horses kicked up, was Jace. He saw Isabelle's eyes on him and smirked a little, but it was more in play than anything else. She smiled ironically, and knew she must have been acting like an idiot.

"Is something funny back there, Jace?" Clary asked, turning to give him a very searching look. "You shouldn't keep secrets, you know."

"No secrets, I was just wondering when we were finally going to stop this walk. Unlike you two _lovely ladies_ I have been walking, and my feet are getting tired." Jace shot Clary a very unsatisfied look. "You should take care of your servants better."

"I take care of my servants well," Clary said, and she looked fondly over at Isabelle, who carefully turned away. "You have yet to earn that title, Jace. And where's Luke?"

Jace groaned. "I can't believe you made me bring that _mutt_ along with us. He practically tore my hand off when I helped you onto the horse. Hopefully, he chased some squirrel off a cliff."

Clary's temper flared. "Luke! Come out, Luke!"

Jace grumbled just as Luke came pelting out of the tree line. He loped alongside the horses, barking and yelping until the horses tossed their heads and stamped their hooves. Isabelle clutched desperately to the saddle, unsure how to handle a horse, and Clary tossed her head and laughed. Jace felt his lips pull up in half a smile when he saw Clary giggling. It was so in contrast with the last memory he had of her, sitting like a ghost on the bed, and it reminded him of the women he had known in his home. The women who had laughed and sang, the women who had been soft and gentle and caring.

"Look at him," Jace said, grabbing hold of both the horses' leads. "He's a menace."

Clary managed to grab hold of the reins and calm her horse down. "You're quick on your feet, aren't you, Jace?"

"Just good with animals," he returned, and managed to shoot her a penetrating look. "I have many talents, of course; I hope you'll come to know them all."

Clary curved her lips up, and a cruel light glimmered in her eyes. "Now, Jace, I certainly don't want you wasting all your _talents_ on me. I'm sure Aline would be most put out if you spent your time and energy entertaining me alone."

Jace kept a flush from his cheeks successfully. "Aline?" he asked innocently.

Isabelle giggled behind her hand and Clary favored her with a playful smile. "The slave girl in the kitchen, the one with the dark hair and dark eyes, and who, apparently, doesn't like Isabelle. Don't tell me you've never seen her, for I'm sure she's seen you."

"I'd venture a guess, princess, that many women have seen me. Far more than I would care to see, myself."

Clary held his gaze for just a second, her mind working double time, and then she burst out in a tinkling laugh. "You're such an eloquent man, Jace, too eloquent for a slave boy."

Jace tipped his head and felt pleasant warmth under Clary's gaze. "I wasn't always a slave, you know. Perhaps I was a poet before I came here."

"You, a poet?" Isabelle laughed. "More likely a jester."

"A jester, a poet, a play write. Maybe a mathematician-"

"Yes, yes," Isabelle agreed. "Or a chemist, or a doctor. Or even a lord in court."

Jace smiled wickedly. "A lord, an earl. Maybe I was prince. Certainly I'm princely enough, don't you think?"

Isabelle tossed her hair back and laughed, but Clary had fallen silent and was staring hard at Jace. There was no happiness on her face, no smile, no playful little turn of her head. Her face had gone blank and her eyes were very dark. She straightened up in the saddle and snapped the reins.

"No, you're surely no prince," Clary said coldly. "You lack the discipline of a true lord, and the education of a prince."

Jace felt a little of the warmth he harbored for Clary evaporate. "Well, we can't all be blocks of ice, waiting to crack on the weight of a _blow_."

Something inside Clary flinched and she turned herself back to the road, sending her horse into a brisk trot. Isabelle, lacking the knowledge of horse riding, and Jace, on foot, was left behind in the dust. Clary felt a calm wind blowing through her hair, brushing her face, and keeping the tears that welled in her eyes at bay. Behind her, she could hear Isabelle urging the mare onward frantically, but she didn't care. It was just a reminder, that was all, a reminder. She had to let Isabelle, and especially Jace, know that they were nothing but figures left behind her in the dust. She could always move onward, always keep going, but they were behind her.

_He _was behind her.

Eventually, Clary came to small alcove, tucked in a crop of trees. In a few moments she pulled her horse aside and jumped down into the tall grass. Taking the horse by the lead, she found a tree to tie the horse to and then a patch of short grass where she settled a blanket. As Desmond ranged about plucking grass and chewing softly, Clary lay back and stared up at the tree leaves glowing in the sun. It was easier to think when she was away from the castle and its incessant chatter.

On her mind was, primarily, Jace. He was a conundrum, a puzzle of a person, and the more time she put into solving him, the more frustrated she became with him. Clary couldn't work out exactly what was so troubling about the boy, but he seemed to remain constantly on her mind. It wasn't that he was handsome, surely she had seen plenty of comely men, though, admittedly, Jace was more striking than any of the others.

For a moment, her thoughts rested on Jace as just the person he appeared. He was tall and lean, and seemed to be constantly glowing gold. A halo of sun-colored curls topped his head and fell into his eyes. Jace's eyes, that was something interesting. They were the color of the gold rings she wore on her fingers, and there was something in them, some deeper knowledge than any casual slave possessed.

She recognized the light in his eyes as understanding. Jace was no simpleton, no common farm boy plucked from his fields. She knew, just looking at him, just hearing the way he spoke, Jace had been someone before being brought here. However, Clary couldn't deny that he was no man from court…at least not the court she knew. The men of Morgenstern Court were hard and quick-witted. They were constantly seeking ascension, trying to find a way to climb the social ladder of the court to the top. It sickened her, watching those men cheat and lie and strike out at each other with knowing smiles and harsh, well-placed words.

And she hated them more because she was a part of their schemes. Clary was a princess, and she knew that the men saw her as a rung in their ladder. A marriage to the princess would anoint any man a place of power, but, thankfully, her father had never arranged a marriage for her. That, too, brought up unwanted emotions and thoughts. She wondered why her father had never married her off, or, at the least, sent her off to the country. Why did he keep her here, constantly under his and the court's eyes?

It made her want to run and hide, and running and hiding took her to Jace.

He was certainly more than a farm boy, this she knew. The way he spoke was too educated, his wit, trained and perfected. He carried himself in an elegant manner, a self-contained grace and rank. Jace knew who he was, knew what he was worth, and just because he had that all taken from him didn't mean the qualities would go as well.

Jace posed a potential problem for Clary. It wasn't just that he was handsome and she could easily see herself making a number of bad decisions with him; no, it was that he offered her peace of mind. He was as educated and knowledgeable as any of men of court, but he stood to gain nothing from her secrets and fears. She could confide in him, maybe…maybe whisper a bit of the truth.

Clary knew Jace had an inkling of something. He had been there, she knew, the night before when she and Jonathan had argued. He must have heard something of their fight, and he must already have developed some theories about her. It was that knowledge, that courtier-trained trade, that gave Jace the ability to think, and Clary didn't know how he'd learned it.

_Who are you, Jace? Where are you from?_ she wondered, watching a clouds chase each other across the sky.

"Who are you?"

"Milady?"

Clary didn't jump, but she drew a sharp breath. Carefully, with the mien of a proper lady, Clary sat up and studied Isabelle. The maid was approaching carefully, like Clary was a rabid animal, and her eyes were downcast and subservient. She looked nervous.

"I didn't see you there, Isabelle," Clary said, and she moved her lips into a trained smile. It was comforting and gentle, something to ease Isabelle back into her trust. "Where's the mare?"

"Jace has her," she answered, glancing up quickly. "He's stretching her legs before bringing her here to graze. I hope you're not angry, milady."

Clary raised on eyebrow. "No, Isabelle, I would never be angry with you. You're my little maid."

"And you're not mad with Jace?"

A small, thoughtful pause followed this question, and then Clary tipped her head. "I'm not mad with him either. In fact, I find him _enchanting_."

Isabelle relaxed visibly and she curtsied. "I've brought the food, if you're hungry."

"Starving," Clary replied, and she patted the blanket for Isabelle to sit.

The two girls settled down o the blanket and began to spread out the contents of the basket. Soon, there was fresh bread and meat and fruit and goblets of wine and Clary was listening to Isabelle tell stories of her childhood. The sound of approaching horse hooves alerted Clary to Jace's presence.

"Am I intruding?" Jace asked as he passed them and tied the horse's lead to a tree. "You two absconded into the wilds without me, and yet, you seem so content."

"Is that so unheard of?" Clary asked at once, enjoying the word play. "Do you think two women taking a stroll in the summer fields is so _unnatural_?"

"Actually," Jace said with a smirk, "I was referring to the fact that you are so content to stroll through the summer fields _without _me. Usually, young ladies like my company."

"You're in for a big surprise then, aren't you?" Isabelle asked, trying to mimic Clary's manner.

"I'm shocked," Jace agreed, and eyed the food spread out on the blanket. "And, I might add, a little hungry. It's hard work, chaperoning two ladies."

"If you'd like to eat, I think Isabelle and I can spare something," Clary offered. "But first, where is Luke? Did you send him off again?"

"That dog of yours chased some rabbit off into the woods a way back. I hope he's got himself stuck in log." Jace flopped down on the blanket and plucked a hunk of break off a plate. "This is fresh from the kitchens."

"It is," Clary agreed. "Familiar with fresh bread, are you?"

"Or," Isabelle cut in, pouring a glass of wine for Jace, "familiar with the woman who bakes the bread?"

"A little of both," he shrugged, accepting the wine. Jace ate in silence for a while, sipping the wine and chewing thoughtfully. Clary and Isabelle murmured back and forth before he spoke again. "So, Clary, before our afternoon stroll, we were discussing the necklace you wear now."

Clary leveled Jace with an uncertain look. "We were."

"Where did you get it?" he asked not unkindly.

Without a thought, Clary reached up and undid the lock of the chain. She drew it off her neck and held it up in the air. The rose glinted in the sunlight like a droplet of blood.

"My brother gave it to me," she said. "He said he found it in distant lands and it reminded him of me."

Jace was looking at the rose, and Clary saw something flit across his eyes. "It's very beautiful, but, I think, not for a woman your age, nor of you position."

"How do you mean?" Clary asked.

"A rose is a gift a man gives his lover," reasoned Jace. "And no innocent princess should walk around with that around her neck. Women wear a necklace when it comes from their intended. It is a sign to the other men of court that she has given herself away."

As much as Clary wanted to tell Jace he knew nothing of court life, she was struck by the truth of his words. She did feel as though she were walking around his a mark on her. "You're well versed in the ways of court," was all Clary said. But, instead of slipping the chain back around her throat, Clary wound the chain up in a kerchief and tucked it in the picnic basket.

"Maybe I've been serving in court longer than you think? I mean, it's possible." Jace said with a tired smile.

"Well, I suppose anything is possible." As if to prove her point Clary clapped her hands and stood. "For instance, it's possible for Isabelle, my servant, to ride all the way back to the castle on Desmond. Who ever heard of a slave riding around on a princess's horse? But it's possible."

"You can't mean that, Clarissa?" Isabelle asked, but she was already looking longingly at the mare.

"I most certainly do," Clary said, and her eyes wandered over to Jace. "I think you should race her all the way back. It will be nice for you to see what it means to really ride a horse."

Isabelle rushed over to the mare, rubbing her forehead, her eyes glowing with anticipation. "Well, if you insist, I could ride her back to gates and then wait for you there. I certainly couldn't ride through town on your horse."

"I am insisting," urged Clary. "Go, on Isabelle, get up in the saddle. I'll ride the old mare back with Jace."

"My brothers will never believe that you let me ride your horse," Isabelle said, and she struggled up onto the saddle. Once there, a small sad smile flitted across her face. "Max has never ridden a horse before."

Clary felt the stirrings of friendship, and she thought how odd it was that a young boy had never ridden a horse. _Her_ brother had been given a horse before he could walk or talk, and yet, Max had never even ridden one. Clary shrugged. "Tomorrow, bring your bother to my rooms. I'll have word sent that Max is to be excused from his work. We'll go for another ride and he can ride with me."

Isabelle looked shocked. "Princess…what if someone catches us?"

"What if they do? I'm the princess. I'll tell them I'm thinking of making Max my horse master when he's older and I want him educated in horse care." Clary turned as if that settled the matter and began to draw the old mare closer. She knew Isabelle was still behind her, staring in shock, so she turned about and smiled. "Oh, Isabelle. I'll make sure everything is okay. I promise. Now, ride Desmond back to the castle, and when you get there, take her to the stable and feed her and brush her. I'll come collect you once I arrive."

"I'll make sure her coat shines," said Isabelle, and then turned Desmond about slowly. She snapped the reins and the horse shot off like a bullet. Isabelle laughed wildly as she vanished into the distance.

"Why do you do that?"

Clary turned about to find Jace glowering at her. "What do you mean?" Clary asked, though she had a good idea what Jace meant. "Do what?"

"Why do you treat her so well?"

"Is there something so wrong with being kind?" Clary gave him a shrewd look. "Do you think so little of me that you can't believe I would help my friend?"

Jace came closer and Clary was reminded of a prowling lion. "That's not what I meant," he said softly. "I meant, _why _do you do it? What do you get out of treating Isabelle like she's your friend?"

"Because I'm a good person."

Jace laughed. "Liar. You're using her for something, and that's what I want to know."

"I'm clearly not using Isabelle," sniffed Clary. "Now, help me up into the saddle. We've got a long walk ahead of us."

Jace's face brightened. "Excellent. We'll have plenty of time to talk, you and I."

"That's not what I had in mind," muttered Clary and Jace helped her up onto the mare.

For a little while, Jace managed to stay quiet, looking at Clary thoughtfully. He wondered what her real reason was for treating her maid so well. Clary was a princess, and, from his knowledge, royalty was a different sphere. Even in his previous life, Jace hadn't been on such good terms with his superiors as Isabelle was with the princess. He figured then, that Clary was just using the slave girl, and it made sense to him, considering the family Clary had come from.

"Care to tell me what's on your mind, now?" Clary asked.

"What are using Isabelle for?" Jace said at once.

"Isabelle is my friend," Clary ground out. "We spend time together, we sit in my rooms and read, we ride horses, we eat-"

"No." Jace reached up and snatched the lead on the mare. "Isabelle is _not _your friend. She comes to you because you order her, and she smiles because you bribe her. You give her food and clothing and you treat her brothers so well."

"Would you like that as well?" Clary asked at once. Her eyes gleamed and she smiled down at Jace. "Would you like me to give you food? Do you want to spend your days in my rooms as well, reading my books and sleeping in my chairs? I can arrange for that."

"Why do you do that?" Jace demanded, frustrated.

"Maybe I like being a good person," shrugged Clary, and then with a snap of her wrist, she tore the lead from Jace. "Maybe, just maybe, I like to prove that I'm not my father's daughter. Is there something wrong with me being a good person?"

"It doesn't sit with who you are."

"No, it doesn't sit with your perspective of me," Clary said sharply. "You want me to be a horrible, spoiled brat so you can go on hating me happily. If I'm a good person, then you can't treat me like dirt, which is what you want. You hate my father because he ruined your life, and you _want _to hate me, but you can't. It must be annoying."

Jace stared incredulously after Clary as she walked ahead. He ran to catch up, calling, "Prove it! Prove that you really are a good person. Prove to me that you hate your father's authority as much as you pretend to."

Clary pulled her horse around and raised her eyebrow at Jace. "I can't set you free, if that's what you mean.

"No, but you act as those all your possessions are pointless things you could live without. Is there anything you're not willing to give away?"

Clary looked thoughtfully at Jace, and, very slowly, she turned and untied the basket on the horse's saddle. She sifted through plates and leftovers until she found the small bundle of her kerchief. Clary shook the cloth out and plucked the golden chain from the material. She held it to the light again, but then caught Jace's eye.

"Do you want this?"

Jace blinked once, keeping the excitement from his face, and kept his voice calm. "Of course, its value is considerable."

"If I give it to you, you must swear not to trade it or sell it. I want you to keep it as a reminder that I am more than what I seem. I want you to wear it always. Wear it secretly, but always wear it."

_Like I'd trade it_, Jace thought to himself, but he nodded.

"Then take it." Clary handed the necklace down from the saddle, dropping it into Jace's open palm. His hand closed around it quickly, and Clary wondered what thoughts might be going through his head. "You swore to keep it on you," Clary reminded him.

Jace looked up at Clary and smiled a little. "I did, and I will." Jace lifted the chain up and slipped it over his head. The ring settled into place on Jace's chest with a familiar ring. Jace smiled faintly. "I'll be hard put to keep this hidden from the warden."

Clary turned back to face the road and clicked her heels against the horse's side. "Well, you might have to spend a lot of time away from him."

Jace began walking again, keeping his eyes straight forward. "You seem to keep me pleasantly occupied as it is."

Clary liked the sound of "pleasantly occupied", but Jace's eyes were far away and she realized that he wasn't really thinking about her. Clary frowned. She had wanted Jace to be thinking about, the real her, not thinking about some stupid necklace. Her eyes darted over to Jace, and he had mindlessly picked up the chain and was turning the ring about his fingers.

"What are you thinking about?" Clary asked at once.

"How bad your horse smells," he replied with little consequence. "It can be quite distracting sometimes."

"Maybe I'll see you cleaning her," Clary warned, a slight annoyance in her voice.

"I'd do a poor job," he said at once.

"How can you know that?"

Jace rolled his eyes, his thoughts elsewhere. "Well, it's very easy to see why, actually. Since I've been out in the sun all day, I could very easily have heatstroke."

"Heatstroke?" Clary demanded.

"Yes, heatstroke-if I have to clean your horse. However, if it should happen that when we reach the castle you send me off to your room, I think I will most certainly recover."

Clary could appreciate the humor, but she was still displeased to see that Jace's face was blank. "Perhaps we can retire to my rooms his evening. I'm sure you and I and Isabelle can find a way to entertain ourselves."

Jace knew the princess was being wantonly provocative, but he could care less. "As long as there is food and drink I think we can do well by ourselves."

Clary realized then that she could not engage Jace into a conversation, and she tossed her hair back and fell silent after that. The rest of the trip back to the castle was quiet and fast, and when they reached the stable, Clary found Isabelle waiting by a stall, feeding Desmond a carrot. Clary cleared her throat and waited for Jace to help her down.

"Come, Isabelle," she said with a little wave. "How about you and I go soak our feet in a bath of hot water."

"I'd love to," Isabelle said at once. Her eyes drifted over to Jace who was getting the old mare back into her stall. "Is Jace going to join us? I dare say his feet took the most punishment today."

Clary wanted to say no, he could go rot in the slave dorms, but the look of reproach on Isabelle's face struck something in her. "I suppose so. Jace, once you've finished brushing down the horse, come to my rooms and enjoy some company."


	6. Fairy Tales

Hey everyone! Sorry this is so late, but I got a little caught up in exams. Anyway, I am going to try and get back on track with one chapter a week. Hope you enjoy it!

Fairy Tales

"Aline, get away from the oven and come over here."

A few heads turned in the direction of the voice, and more than a few eyes followed the progression of Aline as she left her position by the stove and joined the kitchen manager by a huge hearth. Most of them had seen her little confrontation with the princess and were wondering if the princess had rethought her decision about not punishing her. Since Aline hadn't been the most popular among the younger women, many of them looked on hopefully. Aline knew the majority of the people in the room were watching her, so she lifted her chin and kept her face clear and unconcerned.

"Yes, sir?" she asked.

"I need someone to fill a bathtub." The manager seemed unaware of Aline's fluttering eyelashes. "Head up to the princess's room."

"The princess?" Aline rasped. Her cheeks flushed bright red and her lips pressed together. "But-but _Isabelle _serves the princess! What is that lazy girl doing?"

"Isabelle isn't my concern right now," the manager growled. "The princess needs a bath of hot water and she asked me to send someone up."

"Did she request me by name?" Aline asked.

For a moment, the manager stared long and hard at Aline, wondering what was angering her. Then, he laughed, loud and long, until most of the people in the kitchen were watching him with interest.

"Why would the princess request _you_? Of course the princess didn't request you, Aline. Do you think that your charms have finally won her over? Think again. She asked me to send someone up, so I'm sending you up." When Aline only rolled her eyes, the man's face darkened. "Listen here, girl, get up to the princess's room and get a hot bath going for her. I'm not asking, I'm telling. Go!"

Aline fell back a step or two and bit her lip to stop from snapping back. The manager turned away and she turned on her heel and headed for the exit from the kitchen. As Aline clomped up the steps, she dusted her hands on her skirt and muttered to herself angrily about the princess, and, especially, Isabelle. She didn't understand how Isabelle, who was no prettier, no smarter, and no more charming than her, could have been picked by the princess when she was not. Aline couldn't quite get over the fact that Isabelle had been plucked from the kitchens and the ovens and the hard work to serve the princess in her cushy life.

When Aline opened the servant's door to the great hall, she was still fuming over Isabelle's favor, and was caught almost completely off guard when the sound of cruel laughter filled her ears.

"And what's this?" asked a soft feminine voice. "This little mouse that crawls from a hole in the wall?"

Aline stopped dead and turned about. There was a picturesque scene displayed before her of beautiful women in stunning gowns and jewels, and handsome men in gilt. Most of the women were sneering at her, eyeing her torn work dress and messed hair. The men didn't even bother with a smile, they were looking at her with nothing less than disgust. One of the women, the one who had first spoken, laughed again.

"Well, what else could she be but a mouse? She's brown, covered in dirt, and sneaking about between meals. If it looks like a mouse, if it sounds like a mouse, if it smells like a mouse, I think we can assume is it a mouse."

Aline flushed but held her tongue.

"Come here, little mouse!" ordered the woman

Aline came forward slowly, keeping her eyes anywhere but on the woman. When she was standing before the clump of friends she glanced up timidly. They were all staring at her, studying her, tearing her to pieces with their eyes. Aline felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead and she wanted to turn and hide.

"You think the servants of the household might try to put on a better show," said another woman, touching the sleeve of a man. "You ought to speak to your father about that."

The man, who had been looking out the window carelessly turned about and shot a dark look over at Aline. He had a handsome face and cold eyes, and Aline wanted to hurry away, but he held her in place with his eyes. He ran his gaze slowly over Aline's form, pausing here and there on her clothing and hair. Finally, after running his eyes over her, the man returned his gaze to her face and smirked.

"I'm afraid that is the curse of the kitchen workers," he said. "They have no sense of decency or respect. They wander through these halls, spreading filth and disease wherever they go."

Whatever little outrage Aline had felt at the man staring at her vanished with his words. There was such malevolence in his voice, such raw disgust, that Aline almost wanted to cry. Even when she had been free, living on a farm, the lord of her land had never treated her so badly when he road through their village.

"Now, now, Jonathan," said the man next to him. Aline thought that man looked like a pig, with squinty eyes and turned up nose, and the next words out of his mouth only confirmed what she thought. "What about your sister's servant girl? Maybe I like my girls dark haired and dark eyed, but I wouldn't say no to a night with her. She seems presentable and almost civilized."

"Almost being the operative word," muttered one of the women.

"Perhaps you're right," said Jonathan. "But I prefer fair-haired girls, and I wouldn't be caught dead with a slave. But I think my sister _makes_ her servants dress well. She has that standard at least."

"Jonathan," said the first woman, smiling at her friend because her hair was a yellow as they sun. "You know you love your sister."

Jonathan offered a winning smile. "I adore her."

"Speaking of Clarissa," said the pig-nosed man. "I saw her walking about with a boy in tow. Who is this blond haired boy?"

Aline knew at once they were talking about Jace, but she was taken aback by the look of hatred that crossed Jonathan's face. "Some new slave she found. I don't like him following my sister about, going to her rooms, running her errands. A young lady like my sister shouldn't be spending so much time with any man."

"Have you talked to her?" asked the blonde woman, trying once more to draw the prince's attention to her. "If you oppose this young man so much, perhaps you can convince her to send the boy away?"

"I have talked to her," growled Jonathan.

"To what end?" asked his friend.

"No end," Jonathan barked, standing suddenly. "She wants to keep the boy around her at all time, and it's infuriating. I've tried to convince her to get rid of him, but she says she bought him and she is princess and has a right to her things. I've spoken with my father but he lets her do as she pleases."

"Clary is just a free spirit," said the other, dark haired woman. "She's young and your father likes to indulge her."

"No, he liked to indulge my mother, and Clary reminds him of her," Jonathan said thoughtfully. "But I will persist with her until Clary sees reason."

The pig faced man looked at Jonathan with a dark gleam in his eye. "We can always take care of the boy if you'd like. I'm sure he's not with your sister all the time."

Jonathan smiled horribly and Aline took frantic steps back. "Such a kind offer. We'll just have to see how the next week goes. If my sister insists on keeping the boy with her we can pay him a visit…"

Aline had already turned and begun running away when the woman called after her. She didn't care if she was whipped, though; all that mattered was that she get away from those horrible, horrible people with their cruel thoughts and their dark eyes. She vaulted down the halls, hearing the wind rushing past her, and voices from all over echo about. In fact, Aline didn't stop running until she was two levels up, leaning against a wall and staring out a window.

It was so peaceful outside, so calm, and, maybe, even quiet. Aline walked forward bit by bit until she was staring out the window at the castle grounds, and, further on, stretching vistas and the falling sun. There were people hurrying about in the yard, horses flicking their tails and tossing their manes. Here and there, a servant was performing some menial task. On the green, by the line of the trees, was a happy group of courtiers playing bowls. There was a buzz of activity all about, the castle a hive, and all the people living there just bees.

_It certainly isn't the country,_ Aline thought. _I remember fields and fields of summer grass, knee high and dripping with dew. Or the nights filled with only the sounds of owls and crickets. I remember the simple pleasure of a well-tilled field, husking corn, plucking berries. A well earned meal. But here, there is no peace; there is always some convoluted plan to be made, some secret to be told, some life to ruin._

It was this thought that brought Aline up short and drew her back to the living world. Jace's life was one that could be ruined. He was just an innocent servant here like her. He probably came from the same farming fields as her. Jace, Aline knew, had to be farm boy. What else could give him that skill with animals, that beautiful golden skin, those care worn hands?

A few steadying breaths and Aline managed to pull herself away from the window and stand straight. She caught the reflection of herself in the window, and Aline flushed just a little. Though she hated admitting it, Aline did have to concede that she did look rather dirty. There were stains on her dress, a tear in her skirt, and her hair had escaped the bun it had been in, and was sprouting hairs everywhere.

"Jace can't see me this way," she murmured, wondering if this was the thought that went through Isabelle's head every day she served the princess.

As she walked, Aline dusted her dress off and straightened her skirt. She felt a little silly, trying to make herself look better for a slave when she herself was a slave. All the same, Aline did try and tame her hair before knocking on the door.

There was no answer at first, and Aline wondered if she had been sent on some made up task. She was about to knock again when the sound of a hand, drumming its fingers against the door, drew her attention. There was the faint sound of a voice raised in question, and then the door quivered and opened.

"Well," said Clary, looking up at Aline with a raised eyebrow. "What a pleasant surprise. Why, we were just wondering what was taking so long, but this does answer the question." Clary moved aside and waved Aline in. "Look here, Isabelle, the answer to our question."

"Her?" Isabelle asked. Aline noticed at once that Isabelle was seated comfortably on a couch by the hearth, her feet stretched out before her, a glass of water by her side. "I don't understand, milady."

Clary smiled narrowly. "We both know how _busy_ Aline is when it comes to her chores. That explains our long wait."

Isabelle flashed Aline a rather cruel smile, and then turned her eyes back to Clary. "I am happy to see her regardless, milady. My feet are so sore."

"Your feet are so sore?" demanded Jace, appearing from Clary's private rooms, shaking himself into a new, clean shirt. "Wasn't I the one who had to walk all that way while you two were happy and seated on your horses? I'd say if anyone needs a foot bath, it's me."

"Whining is such an unattractive trait," Clary sighed.

"That certainly explains some things about you, Miss Clary," Jace shot back thoughtlessly.

Aline was shocked. First, to see Jace in clean linen, obviously given to him by Clary. Second, to hear the way he spoke with Clary, as if they were already old friends and on very good terms with each other. Jace had barely been in the castle three days and he and Clary were best of friends. She felt a little bud of anger unfurl in her chest at the sight of the two them. Jace was a slave and _her_ friend, yet here he was, lounging about in Clary's room with an ironic smile and a look in his eyes he saved only for Clary.

Aline cleared her throat. "You called for me, Princess?"

Clary turned about. "Well, I called for _someone_, but beggars can't be choosers. I'd like you to fill a bath with as much hot water as you can and bring linens and rags to wash with. The three of us are tired from our day."

_Tired from _our _day?_ Aline thought furiously. "As you wish, milady, but I think you might want to send Isabelle and Jace down to the kitchens. It's going on meal time and I don't think they've eaten in a while." At least if Jace and Isabelle were in the kitchen, she wouldn't need to wait on them.

Clary spun about and looked from Isabelle to Jace, a question on her face. "No," she said thoughtfully. "I think Jace and Isabelle will remain here. I'll have some food sent up for them, Aline, have no fear."

Aline flushed, keeping her eyes fixed on Jace who hadn't bothered to look at her. He had found place to sit on the window seat, and was looking out the window into the distance. She thought it was a little rude of him to ignore her when she had been the first person to speak with him. She bit her lip and gave Clary a quick bow. "As you'll have it."

Clary watched Aline head for the bathroom where she was certainly about to find the half empty tub Jace hadn't cleaned out, and she smiled just a little. After a moment of thought, she joined Isabelle on the couch and made a face. Jace, who had been pointedly keeping his face turned while Aline was in the room, was now looking back at Clary with a mixture of strange emotions. He knew what she knew, and he wanted to hate her, but all he could remember was her face the night before, after her argument with Jonathan, and it made him wonder if there wasn't something a little more to her cruelty.

"Isabelle," Clary said, and she was looking sad. "I hate to ask you this, I really do, but is there any way you can go to the kitchens and arrange a meal for yourself and Jace?"

Isabelle sat up at once. "Why, of course."

"I don't want to make you leave when you're so comfortable to begin with."

"Not at all," Isabelle said, standing and dusting her skirt off. "What would you like?"

Clary laughed kindly. "Well, what would you like? It is, after all, you're food. Why don't you ask Jace what he might like?"

Isabelle looked over to Jace, who was watching the entire thing with interest. "I'd like meat and bread, I don't care which kind or how it's cooked. As long as there's meat and bread I'll be set."

Isabelle laughed. "So easy for you to be pleased. Alright, I'll go down to the kitchen, but please, don't keep me too long. My feet need to relax."

"We'll wait for you, Isabelle," Clary promised. "And, you know, I understand that there could be quite a lot of food to carry up. You might need someone to help you bring it all up. Maybe even _two _somebodies."

Isabelle smiled brightly. "The sunlight had made me weak. I'll need two people to help for sure."

Clary laughed and shooed her away. "Take your time, Isabelle. We'll wait."

As soon as Isabelle had left, Clary felt the pressure of Jace's eyes on her back and she turned to face him. "Don't sit there alone."

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Don't sit alone yourself."

Clary rolled her eyes. "I sit alone wherever I sit, haven't you realized yet? I have no friends, or mother, or sister to join me. Where I am, I am always alone."

The truth of the statement so carelessly put caught Jace off guard. "You have a choice, you know. You don't have to sit alone. You can make friends."

Clary smiled. "Yes, I can make friends. Was I not just sitting with one of them? But then, you say Isabelle is not my friend, so I still sit alone."

Jace flushed a little. "A friend should be conscious of the decision."

"Will you make the conscious decision to join me here?" Clary asked slowly. She didn't change her face, and she could have been mistaken for one who didn't care at all. But Jace knew better, he'd seen the face enough in his childhood to know when someone was reaching out.

"You give me so few choices," Jace murmured and stood and came over. He didn't sit when he reached her, though, but stood above her, looking down at her small form and bright eyes. "Are you so sure you want me as your friend?"

Clary pursed her lips and blinked innocently. "I want you as something, a friend is just a word for it."

Clary's face darkened and Jace was reminded of her brother. There was something very hard in her eyes, and it made her seem all the more powerful and dark. He swallowed and, without thinking, reached down and took Clary's chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I don't like being used."

"We're all being used, but you make the conscious decision to let me personally use you." She smiled suddenly. "Get me the book on the mantel."

Jace dropped her chin, a little confused by her sudden change in emotion. "On the mantel?" When he took the book down, he paled, recognizing the cover. "The art book?"

"Yes, it's okay, you can look at it now." Clary reached out and took the book from him quickly. "I'll show you some if you'd like."

"That's very kind," Jace said, joining her on the couch. "Just the other day you were furious with me."

"Ah, well," Clary said softly, reaching out and tracing the line of the ring beneath his shirt. "We are friends now, and you're not bothering me so much today."

"I've seen these pictures before," Jace pointed out.

"Seeing isn't knowing," murmured Clary, and she sounded very sad. "My mother used to say that. You've seen the pictures, but you don't know what inspired them. You don't know the story behind each."

Jace nodded. "As long as they're not boring, I think I'll stick around."

Clary laughed loudly, and Luke, who was snoring softly by the fire, woke up and shot a dark look at Jace. "This could hold the secrets of the Morgenstern family, and you think it'll be boring?"

"Well, if it really did hold the secrets of the Morgenstern family, I don't think Valentine would leave it in his daughter's room in plain sight."

"I'll let you deicide, hmm?" Clary gave him a provocative look and then opened the cover.

The first image was of a pleasant manor house, large and grand, but still pleasant. There were grassy hills sloping up to meet it, the grass painted delicately with the thinnest strokes of pen. Here and there, small spring flowers were reaching out of the grass, blooming in the warm sun glowing above. The manor house was made of layers of brick varying in shades of brown and red. An intricate pattern of creeping flowers was painted over the front of the house, and windows were framed with blooms. Behind the house was a waterfall that poured out of a dark green forest.

"I take it you lived here?" Jace asked.

"Once upon a time," Clary murmured. "This was my mother's favorite place to be in the summer. I think it belonged to her family before she married my father, and as a little girl, she spent her summers there. When she was married and had me and Jonathan, she used to beg my father to take us there." Clary laughed faintly, running her fingers over the waterfall. "Once, when I was very little, my mother sent Jonathan and I out to play and we went to the top of the waterfall. We used to throw stones into the current and watch them go over the fall. I thought if I curled into a tight ball, I could go down the waterfall like one the stones, and I almost tried it."

"Almost?" Jace gave her an incredulous look and wondered what Clary had been like as a girl.

"My father saw us just as I was putting my feet in. He ran up and tore me out of the current, going on and on about how he couldn't believe his son would let me play by a waterfall. I thought he was going to hit Jonathan at first, but then my mother came and calmed him down.

"She was the only person who could speak so softly and yet make him listen. She took me from my father's arms and put me on the ground by Jonathan. She told him it was a mistake, just a mistake, and Jonathan I were just playing."

"I take it your father wasn't pleased anyway," guessed Jace, staring now at the waterfall in the picture. He was sure if it was drawn correctly that Clary would have died going over it.

"He seemed very mad at Jonathan, and my mother made Jonathan apologize. I don't understand why, it's not like Jonathan understood what would have happened if I had gone over the fall." Clary sighed at the memory. "Anyway, the next day, my mother left for the afternoon and came back with a gift for me."

"What was it?"

"Luke," Clary said, and the wolf dog, hearing his name, lumbered over, tongue lolling out of his mouth in a wolfy smile. "She walked him up to me with a big blue bow tied around his neck. She said he was very smart, and once he had my scent, he'd always be with me. So far, this had been the case."

Jace eyed Luke speculatively. "I can't imagine this dog as a small puppy."

"He wasn't," Clary said softly. "When my mother gave him to me, Luke was already this size. He hasn't grown since."

Jace started. "Are you telling me this dog hasn't changed a bit since you got him? How long ago did your mother give you Luke?"

"I was young, four, I think," mused Clary. "Why?"

"Then you've had Luke for twelve years, before he was a puppy?" The disbelief was clear in Jace's voice. "He had to be at the least, three when you got him. So he's fifteen now. How is that possible?"

Clary looked perplexed. "I just assumed he came from a long-lived breed of dog."

"Clary, that's not possible. I mean, he could live that long, but he wouldn't be so agile. By any rights, he should be curled up by the fire now, sleeping off the rest of his old age."

"Luke's fine!" Clary said in outrage.

"Yes, I know, and that's what doesn't make sense. How can he be that old and still so young?" Jace was staring hard at Luke now, his eyes trying to discern what was behind the furry face. "Are you sure he's a dog?"

Clary raised one eyebrow. "Well, let us think this through logically. He looks like a dog, he sounds like a dog, he smells like a dog, he even acts like a dog, so logically, he must be a dog. At least, one would assume as much."

"Yes, one would assume as much," Jace mused, but his eyes never left the dog. "I, however, I will remain skeptical."

Clary rolled her eyes, but then turned her attention back to the book in her hands. She flipped thoughtfully through the pages, pausing on a few depictions of wildflowers. Jace thought that Clary's mother seemed very fond of the country and nature, and he would reach out once in a while to stop Clary from flipping the pages. There were beautiful images of rolling grassy fields, dotted by flowers, a river sparkling like diamonds in the sun, a trail through a sun drenched forest.

"You mother was very fond of nature," Jace said softly, admiring a picture of a huge willow tree. "She spent so much of her time drawing it. It's hard to imagine…"

"Yes?" Clary said at once.

"Why you mother fell in love with Valentine," he replied with a subversive look. "She seems rather personable, but you father…well, he's no cupcake."

Clary smiled faintly. "He loved me mother, though, loved her more than anything else in the world. When she was alive, my father wasn't cruel, or, at least not as harsh. She softened him."

"You're aware your father is cruel?" Jace asked with a smile.

"It's hard not to notice," Clary sighed, and then ran her hand over the tree. "My mother used to walk my brother and me to this tree once a week in the summer. It took hours on foot, but we'd spend the entire day there, eating from a picnic basket, rolling down the hills and playing in the tree. It was beautiful."

"It certainly looks like it," admitted Jace, and he was reminded forcefully of his past. "You must have been happy as a child."

"I'm not now?" Clary asked, but her knowing smile gave her away.

"It must have been a nice childhood." Jace flipped another page and paused by a picture of Clary seated on her father's lap. "This is impressive."

Clary flushed. She studied herself in the picture and frowned. Her hair was the color of carrots and her face coated in freckles. She had a ridiculous smile plastered on her face, one tooth missing and forming a sweet little gap. Her head was tilted just a little, her hair falling like a curtain or red. Behind her, Valentine was smiling almost proudly. Jace grinned at the look of disgust on her face.

"It's hideous," Clary said decidedly.

"It's rather charming," he disagreed. "Your father looks like a person in this painting. He must have loved you."

"Loved me only because my mother loved me," Clary whispered bitterly, and she rose in the flurry of skirts and motion. Jace watched her go to the window, hugging herself close and rubbing her arms.

Carefully, Jace replaced the book on the seat and went to join her. "That's not true," he said, joining her at the window. "Parents love their children no matter what. It's in their blood."

An odd look had crossed Clary's face so suddenly Jace almost missed it, but her voice, when she spoke, was filled with it. "Oh, no, Jace, blood has nothing to do with it."

"I find that very hard to believe," he said. "Family is family, no matter what happens."

"No matter how they treat you?" Clary countered at once.

"Even then," Jace said, but his voice had lowered and his eyes wavered. Clary looked so small and lost to him that he wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around her. And that was what he did.

Clary didn't even seem to realize Jace had his arms around her; her face just remained pale and lost. It worried Jace, though, more than it should have. He was used to women at least reacting, anything would have been better than her lifeless body in his arms. Jace was about to check Clary's face for some sign of recognition, when she stirred and turned her gaze from the window.

"Is this so wise, Jace?" Clary asked, but her voice was low and soft.

"Who said I was known for making wise decisions?"

Clary smiled faintly. "Very true. However, were my father or brother to catch us, I would be concerned for your safety."

"The door is locked," Jace pointed out.

"So it is," Clary said, then turned away from Jace. However, she did relax in his arms, leaning against him for the support she desperately needed. "So it is."

It was like this, Clary curled in Jace's arms, Jace resting his cheek against her, when Aline came upon them. She paused in shock, holding a bucket of water that she almost dropped. There was something more between them, even more than Clary in his arms, and Aline didn't like it. True, they looked like lovers, but there was something even more than love in their embrace. It was understanding. Jace understood something about Clary, and vice versa.

It sickened Aline.

Every thought Aline had about helping Jace, about warning him, fled from her then. She curled her fingers around the bucket angrily and slipped past them, holding back furious screams. As she passed by the couch, her eyes fell on the open book, the image of Valentine holding Clary and smiling.

"I hope you die," she hissed, looking back to Clary and Jace. The light fell through the window, glazing them with red and pink. Their skin glowed in an unearthly way, like it was lit from some inner light. It looked beautiful, so beautiful and so bright, that Aline turned away from the light, unable to bear it anymore.


	7. History Lessons

History Lessons

"Careful with that pan boy, are you looking for the whip?"

Alec ground his teeth to keep a smart remark form passing his lips. Instead, he very carefully shifted his hands and weight to reposition the tray of newly backed bread. The bottom of the pan, however, was forced to rest against his forearms, and it was hot. Again, Alec clamped his teeth together and hurried as quickly as he could to the table where the other pans were now cooling. The moment the pan was down, Alec shook his arms, cursing under his breath and trying to examine the bright burns.

"What did you say?" demanded the ward of the kitchen. He was a tall man with sharp, dark eyes and a fondness for dealing out quick punishments. Also, he appeared to have super human hearing. "What did you say, boy?"

"I didn't say anything," Alec replied at once. "Just burned myself is all."

"Just burned yourself?" he sneered. "Well get back to work. I've burned myself plenty of times in the heat of battle, not that you'd know anything about battle and glory. You, a slave boy."

Once more, Alec felt the urge to snap back, but he'd seen enough people struck for a smart remark, and he certainly wasn't looking for a whipping. "I suppose you're right, sir. I was a farmer before coming here."

"Farmer," he sniffed. "We don't need sniveling farmers who tax the militaries resources and barely turn a profit. I remember when my father was first serving in the militia, his legion had to ride into battle because _farm county _was being invaded by the Downworlders. Not that you'd know much about those things, being too young, but I remember the tales. It was a terrible battle, so many good men lost, just because of those _famers _and their carrots."

In a different world, in a different time, Alec would have asked about the Downworlders. They were a thing of legend now, stories told to scare children in their bed at night and to whisper around a warm hearth. And Alec did have a fondness for hearing those old tales, he'd used to beg his father to hear them, but then…well, there was no father to tell them now.

"You father was a brave man then," Alec said grudgingly, hoping to placate the man. "I was told stories of the Downworlders…werewolves and vampires and such things."

"Don't forget the demons," piped up a voice from behind Alec. He spun about and found Max looking up with glowing eyes. "Father used to talk about demons from Hell that rose up to search for the souls of innocent children."

Alec smiled fondly down at his little brother. If he had been fond of hearing old tales, Max was a fanatic. He would listen to every word their father said as if it were the secret to living well. The boy had such an imagination that Alec sometimes wondered what thoughts raced through his head when he heard those stores.

"And the demons, too," Alec said softly.

"Yes, well," the ward said loudly. "There's no reason to think about the demons anymore, not since Valentine came with his sacred soldiers and rid this land of its infestation."

Alec nodded in agreement. He might have hated Valentine for the crimes he committed, might have wanted to kill him, but he couldn't deny that Valentine had been responsible for the eradication of the demons and the removal of Downworlders. However, Alec could still hate Valentine for letting he power go to his head and annexing territory after territory, sweeping through like a forest fire.

"I think we owe Valentine our thanks, don't you?" asked the ward sharply. "He saved your lands from destruction."

Max mad an angry sound, but Alec gave him a sharp pinch in the back of the neck. "Yes, we are all very grateful for Valentine's defending of our land. He is the savior this land needed."

"Too right," murmured the ward, his eyes roving past Alec and gleaming hungrily. "And who do we have here?"

Alec and Max looked behind them and saw their sister approaching quickly. She saw them and smiled warmly before returning her gaze with disdain to the kitchen ward. When she reached them, she plucked her skirt and made a clumsy bow. The ward watched her movements without blinking, and Alec wanted to reach out and cover his sister.

"What can I do you for, little lady?" asked the ward.

Isabelle tried to smile politely, but it was hard when the man grinned at her. "I'm here on an errand for my mistress, the Princess Clarissa. She'd like me to gather some food and drink and take it up to her. She also requested my brothers help me carry the food."

The man pressed her lips together. "What do you need your brother's help for?"

"Today, I was caring for my mistresses horse, and it kicked back and hit my arm. She doesn't want any more damage done to it, seeing that I couldn't serve her best if my arm is ruined. I'm going to need help with it all."

The man studied Isabelle now, looking for a tell, but her face was clear and he didn't want to risk the princess's ire. Instead he shot Alec and Max a mean look but waved them over. "Don't bother coming back for dinner, you'll be too late to get anything."

Max yelped in anger and shock, and the ward snorted before turning away and heading back to the kitchen. "We don't get dinner?" he demanded.

"Oh , Max, you'll get dinner, don't panic. We'll make sure to get enough food for all of us to eat."

Isabelle swept off for the ovens where the bread and meat were cooking. She and her brothers quickly went though, plucking different things from the pans and pots until they had a collection of food they were all willing to eat. Isabelle shouldered a pack with wine flasks and bread and looked down at Max, who was supporting a bowl of soup, and beside him, Alec, who was trying to balance a tray of meat on one arm. Her gaze rested on him.

"What's wrong with your arm?" she asked curiously.

Alec looked down, embarrassed. "It's just a burn, something I got working here."

"And you didn't get it cleaned?" Isabelle shook her head, eyes searching for the warden who she could blame. "It's a little irresponsible to let your workers go on working when they're hurt. You could get very ill from that-"

"Isabelle, don't, just don't." Alec's voice was rough and he shook his head forcefully. "You're not going to be able to get me any help from him. I'll see if I can wash it off somewhere and put a bandage on it."

Isabelle eyed the wound. "The princess will know what to do. She'll help you."

"Princess Clarissa might be generous to you, but I don't think she'll spare much time for my wounds," he muttered, but followed Isabelle dutifully out of the kitchen.

The siblings moved quickly up the halls and were soon knocking gently on the door outside Clary's room. Isabelle smiled down at Max, who was staring around in wonder; he spent so much time the kitchens that he very rarely saw what was above. He was about to reach out and toy with the strings on the lush rug beneath his feet when the door was thrown open.

Clary smiled brightly. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," she said playfully, and waved them in. "Come in, come in, please, makes yourselves comfortable."

Isabelle walked in first, saw Jace relaxed by the window where she'd left him, and nodded. She didn't know how much she trusted him with the princess alone. Alec and Max trailed her, trying to keep their eyes down but failing miserably. They had only heard stories about Clary, sometimes receiving some of her goodwill, but never communicating with her on any level.

"Let's see," Clary said, coming first to Max and kindly taking the heavy bowl of soup from Max's hand. "You, little one, must be Max. You look so much like your brother."

Max flushed, having always thought his brother was rather handsome. "Thank you, Princess."

"Clary, I insist you call me Clary." She placed the bowl on the table and glanced over at the chairs. "If you'd like to sit, you're more than welcome. You look tired; I bet you've been working hard."

"Sometimes, Prin-Clary," he said quickly. "But I try not to."

Clary winked. "I won't tell if you don't."

Max snorted and found himself a seat where he promptly leaned back and tried to relax. Once in a while, though, he would glance up and see Jace at the window. Max thought Jace looked like some heavenly rebel. The way the sun fell on his skin was very striking and he had a contained power about him that made Max want to draw near and pull away at the same time.

Meanwhile, Clary had moved on to Alec and was asking after his work when she spotted his burned arm. "What happened?" she asked at once.

Alec blushed a little. "It was a mistake in the kitchen, Princess. I burned myself by accident."

"Well, of course it was an accident. I take it you didn't do it for the pleasure, but why didn't you have someone look at it?"

"Well, Princess," Alec said quietly. "I'm quite positive the warden saw it."

Jace glanced up suddenly, wondering how Clary was going to handle the situation. She could call for help, but that would warrant an explanation, and trying to tell her father's physician that she wanted him to treat a slave wasn't very likely. However, she couldn't let his arm burn and still call herself a friend of his.

Clary smiled a little to herself. "It's a good thing you came here, then, isn't it?" She swished past him and threw open her door. It seemed like a moment later Clary had summoned a guard over to her. She was murmuring to him quickly, her eyes hard and her chin raised. The soldier looked uncertain, but Clary seemed to brook no excuse and he hurried off after a moment or so. When Clary returned, she was wearing a satisfied smile.

"I've sent for a doctor, Alec." Clary glanced to the table before her where the food was spread out, and she sighed bitterly. "I'm afraid I'll have to leave soon, so I'll ask you, Isabelle, to help me dress quickly."

Isabelle, who had been pouring Max a glass of much watered down wine shot up. "Of, course, Clary, what would you like to wear?"

"Let's you and I choose while these boys eat." Clary waved Isabelle over and the two entered her room. Clary eyed the dresses that were hanging in her wardrobe with care, and, after a moment, chose a yellow affair with white eyelet lace around the neckline, cuffs, and bustle. "Can you get me into this and do something with my hair?"

Isabelle nodded thoughtfully. "Won't take a minute."

Good to her word, Isabelle managed to get Clary out of her riding habit and into the evening gown in just five minutes, finishing the lacing of the back in a tight, loopy bow. When Clary caught a look of herself in the mirror, she thought she looked like a daisy, and decided it was a very pleasant, spring color. Maybe her father would let her leave dinner early if he thought she was happy.

As Isabelle brushed and braided Clary's hair into an intricate design she spoke. "Isabelle, you should stay here tonight. You and you're brothers should stay."

"It would be an honor, Clary," Isabelle said softly. "I'm sure Alec and Max would be most grateful, but we will be missed in the dorms."

"Nonsense," Clary said. "If I say that you're to stay here-"

"It will be noticed, Clary," Isabelle whispered. "To keep me or Jace overnight is one thing, but for four slaves to be out of bed and in your rooms is too much. We would be punished the next day for missing the evening bell."

For some reason Clary couldn't describe, this fact bothered her. She had begun to consider her and Isabelle friends, and friends spent time together. When Clary had been younger, some her lesser peers had spent nights in her vast rooms. She didn't quite understand why Isabelle couldn't stay with her when they were clearly friends. It called back some of Jace's earlier words, and it made an uncomfortable feeling in Clary's chest unfurl.

As soon as Clary's hair was done she stood and hurried out of her room. She found Alec and Max and Jace seated around the table enjoying the food and speaking of some past memories. Isabelle frowned when she saw Max's feet propped on the table, but Clary didn't seem to notice.

"The food is good?" Clary asked, coming over and smiling.

Jace, who had been chewing a piece of bread, saw Clary and found himself reminded forcefully of his old friends who had worn such bright colors. But the memories also brought back the bitter reminder that those friends were dead, and Jace turned away from her, not wanting her to see the darkness in his eyes.

Clary saw Jace turn away, but she turned her smile on the others. "Well, I do hope this serves as a good replacement meal for the one Aline assured me you would miss. I'll have to leave soon for my own meal. As it is, just stay here until I return and relax. We'll find a way to get you back home later."

Clary turned to leave just as the door to her room opened on its own accord. Everyone turned to see who had arrived as Luke released a furious growl. But, after a moment, Luke's growl cut off and Clary clapped her hands in pleasure.

"It's good to see you, Magnus," Clary said, bowing. "I'm glad you could make it here on such short notice. One of my friends here is hurt and he needs your assistance."

"I do enjoy being your friend, Clarissa. There is never a want for fun when you're around. Who is the poor patient?"

"I'm not a poor patient," muttered Alec, who had stood up to see his new doctor. What he saw did not help his overall disposition.

Magnus, as Clary had named him, was tall lean, and reminded Alec of a tree in the middle of winter. As he approached, however, Alec drew back in shock. He had heard of other nationalities, stories of men from other countries where their facial features were different, but this was unheard of. Magnus had the tanned skin of the workers who used to toil in the fields, but with none of the weariness those workers possessed, and he had the strangest eyes Alec had ever seen. Then were slanted up and had the slit pupil of a cat's. When they landed on Alec, the pupils dilated just a little.

"Well, he's certainly no lord," Magnus said dismissively. "At least, not one I've ever seen."

Alec flushed. "No one asked you."

"No, no one did, but since I'm a doctor, I'm allowed to make judgment calls, and then tend to carry a much heavier weight than other non-doctors do." His eyes flicked over Alec and he smiled. "So, what do we have on our hands?"

"He's a kitchen worker, and a friend," Clary said. "His sister is my personal handmaid and I would be distressed if her brother were to fall ill. He has a nasty burn on his forearm, Magnus, and I was hoping you'd be able to fix it."

"A burn is hardly reason to panic, but I think I'll be able to see my way to it," he returned, and then bowed deeply. "You should run along, little miss. I think your dinner has already started and you know how your dear brother gets when he doesn't get his dinner on time."

Clary smiled. "Of course, oh, and Magnus? This time, if you brought your cat with you, keep him in a different room than Luke. He just barely managed to escape the jaws of death last time, and I would never forgive myself if Luke ate your precious feline."

With those words Clary slipped from the room and left Magnus alone with the servants. No sooner had she left than Magnus moved over to the table and plucked a hunk of bread from a plate. The boys looked on angrily, wondering just how much he usually ate, and why he was eating their meal when he undoubtedly had his own.

"So, it's you, is it?" he asked, glancing at Alec.

"My name is Alec," he replied and drew a little closer to the strange man. "I've got a burn on my arm-"

"So I've heard," Magnus said, but his eyes had lit with a strange glow and he was carefully studying the wound on his arm. His hand shot out quickly and snatched the arm; Jace stood in response, ready to fight if it became necessary, but Magnus just laughed under his breath. One of his fingers gingerly traced the wound. "Nasty, but certainly not life threatening. It's a good thing Clary called me though, these burns get infected easily. Can't have all the handsome boys running around with their arms chopped off, can we?"

Alec glanced quickly over at his sister, who was smiling faintly at the look on his face, and then turned back to Magnus. "You can fix it?"

Magnus feigned offense. "Can I fix it? Are you trying to insult me? Of course I can fix it; I'm a doctor for a reason."

"Well, often the doctors we were used to meeting weren't exactly what you would have called a doctor…" Isabelle trailed off looking away from Magnus's odd eyes.

"I take it you were farm-hands?" he said, his voice softening and losing some of its cynical edge. "Am I also to assume that while you may be friends to the princess, you are also slaves here?"

Isabelle took Max's hand in hers and squeezed tightly. "We're people too, slaves or not."

Magnus stared at her for a moment, studying the tilt of her jaw and the strength of her character be nodding and turning his focus on Alec. "If you sit down it will make it much easier for me to dress the wound."

Alec took his seat and watched apprehensively as Magnus began to remove things from beneath the cloak he wore. Having grown up on a farm, Alec was naturally skeptical of methods used by doctors, believing that the best cure for any ailment was a day of rest and hot soup. Max ventured from Isabelle's side and joined Alec on the couch to watch the doctor do his work.

"How long will it take until my brother is better?" Max asked, frowning when Magnus presented a poultice. "Burns can leave scars, can't they?"

"Yes, but I'm a better physician than that," murmured Magnus.

"Our mother couldn't heal burns completely," Max replied stoutly.

"Well, I'm not your mother, and she was a farmer's wife. I'm not from a farm and I'm not from the country."

"Where are you from, then?" Jace had joined them and he was watching Magnus closely. "You're certainly not from around here."

Magnus glanced up, taking the measure of Jace much faster than he knew, and then unraveled a length of bandage. "I'm from the east, and I'm going to venture a guess that you're not from around here either."

Jace blinked but answered carefully. "Closer than you."

"Perhaps," Magnus said. "But you've got a look about you that no slave does. You weren't born on a farm, clearly, and you were raised with a bit more sense than the rest. So, boy, where are _you _from?"

"My name isn't boy, and I'm the country. I spent my life there." Jace crossed his arms defensively. "That was until Valentine razed the land."

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Such a tragic boy," he sneered. "Alec, this is going to sting just a little."

Alec clamped down on her teeth as Magnus applied the lotion, but his eyes returned to Jace. "Everyone has felt the same towards Valentine at one point, Jace. He destroyed my home, my family, everything, just because he has the power to do so."

"No he doesn't," Jace said at once. "What gives Valentine a right to do as he chooses? What made him the king?"

"He led the soldiers that killed the demons and quashed the Downworlders," Max piped up, recalling old tales he'd heard. "Valentine was a warrior who led all his friends to battle. He killed demons with a sword. Some even said he had magical powers."

"Not magic," said Magnus swiftly, cleaning up the poultice on Alec's arm. "He is a shadowhunter, and they don't believe in magic. Shadowhunters are gifted with the use of symbols given to them by their leader, the Angel Raziel. They were warriors, gifted warriors, and nothing else."

"You seem to know more than a person from the east would know," said Jace suspiciously.

Magnus leveled him with a glare. "I know my history well, boy. Of course, where I'm from, we had our shadowhunters too. Great warriors, skilled in the most deadly arts, but like here, they died off. Curious, how those things happen. No one knows why the shadowhunters failed. They were powerful, wise, gifted, and rather wealthy. In fact," and here, Magnus's eyes shot up to Jace, taunting, "It was a mark of the wealthy to be shadowhunters. They were literate, gifted with power over words, and were leaders in battle, just like lords. Some say that the lords and ladies are remnants of the old shadowhunter houses, and that the blood of the Angel still runs strongly in their veins."

"Really?" Max said, his eyes as large as plates. "But, then why would Valentine kill the other lords? He's gone throughout the land, taking homes and cutting down lordships. Why would he kill his own brethren?"

Magnus smiled. "Why would anyone in power destroy those who vie it? Valentine has feathered himself quite a nest, wouldn't you say? I'm sure he doesn't want to lose it."

"No," said Jace quickly. "Valentine was already leading the shadowhunters, they were serving him so he had no fear of losing power. Why kill them then?"

"Maybe," said Magnus, and his voice carried something secret with it. "Maybe Valentine did something his fanatic servants didn't agree with? Maybe Valentine broke some law of the shadowhunters?"

"He seems like the man to do it," Isabelle said softly. "I was told that shadowhunters were our protectors. Why did he turn on the humans?"

"Who knows what makes a man do things," Magnus answered. He began to wrap Alec's wound in the bandage, his fingers glancing off the boy's arm like they'd been burned. "All we know is something happened some odd nine or ten years ago than sent Valentine spiraling down. No one dares to challenge him, and with good reason."

"What do you think it was?" Alec asked, watching as he arm was covered in the cloth. "What do you think made Valentine this way?"

Magnus finished the bandage with a furl and tied it off. He admired his work for a minute. "You know, I've lived in this castle for quite some time now, long enough to see the goings on. Now, since you're all slaves, I've got no fear in saying this, so I'll go ahead and say it. Valentine's wife vanished ten years ago, and around that time, this mass slaughter of the lords began. Those two times coincide to me."

"I thought she died," Jace said at once. "I thought Jocelyn died."

Magnus smiled narrowly at him. "And who told you that?"

"Clary."

"Ah, well, Clary is far too young to remember rightly. Her mother was presumed dead, but her body was never found." Magnus stood and glanced about. "If you ask me, Jocelyn learned something even she couldn't bear to live with, something that turned her against Valentine. I think she ran off for help."

"And leave her children behind?" Jace demanded.

Magnus looked down at Alec. "Keep the bandage on for a few days and rinse it with cold water. It should be looking better in no time, and I'm sure you'll be up and about."

"Thank you," Alec said, staring in wonder down at his arm that was already feeling better. "I've never seen a real doctor before."

"Yes, well, as I said. We can't have all the pretty boys running around with their arms cut off, can we?" Magnus winked and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he paused, as if taken by a thought. He turned about and met Jace's eyes. "You know, I like to think I knew Jocelyn well, and I'll say this for her: she loved her children. I don't think a woman so in love with her children would have left either of them behind without some form of protection."


	8. Author's Note

Hey, everyone! So, I know it's been a long time since I've written ANYTHING for this story, and I'm really sorry. Things got a little busy once college got under way, and I just didn't have the time anymore to write, and I don't like to publish anything that isn't my best. However, I've decided to pick this story back up! I will try to update once a week, but it might vary a little bit depending on my exam schedule. I hope you will continue to enjoy what I write! Expect something next week if not a bit earlier

Yours,

cariaudry


	9. The Unraveling Begins

The Unraveling Begins

As the musicians strummed the final cords of a waltz, Clary drew herself up and prepared to excuse herself for the night. She'd stayed longer than she usually did, speaking more with the lords and ladies, smiling charmingly and dancing with an array of partners. Her father had watched her from his seat, his look always contemplative and his face carefully blank. He thought Clary was being oddly personable, and that, as usual, was hiding something from him. Valentine didn't care overmuch, though; his daughter was his, and he didn't care what games she played with the court. She would always be his.

"Well, I've had about enough of this evening," Clary announced to the court, but mostly to her father. She flashed him a meaningful look. "I think I might retire."

"Oh, but Clarissa," said a young man, stepping forward with a bow to the king. "We were about to have a game of cards. Surely you wouldn't rob the court of your skills."

Clary eyed the man with a sharp glance. He was a knight something or other, newly come to court on his father's dime, sent to serve the king in his father's stead. Since the king rarely needed knights in his service nowadays, the nobleman's place was demoted to courtier, just another attraction in the lavish court. His duties were that of entertainment, his and his fellows, useless courtiers. They were loungers, gossipers, game players, and perhaps more. Clary had heard rumors of circles of men, who played hard and were out long nights. It seemed as if the legends of knightly honor and glory were just that-legends.

And Clary didn't trust a single one of them. "Ah, my dear knight, were I to stay I would most assuredly rob the court of something." She flashed him a coy smile, something she'd trained herself to do when faced with an annoying young man. "Truly, I plead with you, Father, send me to my bed before I collapse."

Valentine admired his daughter's word play, and thought her a very astute politician. There was no doubt in his mind she would make an excellent queen. She was never caught off guard. "If you must, daughter, I'll have Jonathan escort you to your room. I won't have you leave knowing the eyes of so many would follow you."

It was pointless pretty speech, and Clary knew it. Whoever her father had intended her for, she doubted it would be one of the fops who flocked to the court. "Well, watch me go at ease, Father, for who could help but trust Jonathan with my safety and well being. He takes such good care of me, as he has _always_ taken such good care of me."

A pang of annoyance passed through Valentine, hearing his daughter's jib, but no one was the wiser. "Off you go then," he said with a wave.

Clary had only to wait a moment before Jonathan was at her side and escorting her from the room. "You're leaving Sir Michael rather empty handed, don't you think?" Jonathan said as they left the room. "I don't think he'll thank you for abandoning him. He's rather fond of you."

Clary rolled her eyes. "He's fond of nothing but himself and wealth and title, of which I can give him only two."

"Oh, he's fond of other things," hedged Jonathan, smiling crookedly. "One might think a little too fond."

"All men are fond of the same things: money, drink, and women. I hardly think he would prove exceptional."

"Well," Jonathan replied, and here, his voice darkened, "you always were blind to the real world. I think, were you to go looking, you would find exceptionality in many things. Things closer to home."

"Really, Jonathan, you're as bad as the lords with your riddles." Clary made a point of walking faster, putting space between them. "For once just spit of the truth."

"I don't know," he said, catching up to Clary, "if you deserve the truth, sister, since you so rarely give it to me. Sometimes, I think I can trust you, but then you go and do something very bad and underhanded and I find myself very _upset_ with you."

Clary smiled to herself. "We can't all be so morally aligned as you." But the words were toneless, a vain effort to cover up her fear. Had Jonathan discovered the small gathering of slaves in her room? If he had, was he going to hurt them? Clary's mind raced to the little boy, Max, his silent brother, Alec, her helpful maid, Isabelle, and lastly, to Jace. She wondered just how well Jonathan had taken to Jace's presence, and knew that the first person to pay for their discovery was going to be him.

Jonathan watched her a moment and then his arm snapped out and caught her up against a wall. "Clarissa, you push me, and I don't like to be pushed."

"Well, you pester me, and I don't like to be pestered!"

"Listen, little sister, so I'm not forced to repeat myself. I don't _like _you keeping that slave boy around you. Now, I hear he spends more time in your rooms than he should, and I don't _like _that either. I hear you make eyes at him, and I don't _like _that."

"Must be hard to _hear _me make eyes at someone," Clary jibbed.

Jonathan gave her a good shake. "You know what I mean. Now, I won't have this family's name muddied by your liaisons-"

"Oh, that's rich!" Clary hissed back, dropping her voice. "You speak of my impropriates, let's discuss yours, shall we? You're a vile man, Jonathan, with vile tastes, and I would know best just how-"

Jonathan slapped Clary so hard across the face her vision blurred. "I am your brother, your prince, and your future king; don't you dare speak to me like that. I will warn you once, little sister, you are to keep those slaves where they belong. No more little gatherings in your room, no more meals, no more outings. They are slaves, and I won't have one of them getting any cheek just because you favor them. I swear, Clary, if I find one in your rooms I will have them _all _sent to the basement, and I will personally see to it that they each receive a little taste of your punishment."

Clary swallowed, her skin going cold. Somewhere, should found her voice, and a sneer to go with it. "That would be hard Jonathan, as some of them are male."

Jonathan chuckled. "Oh, yes, I know. But I told you, exceptional things are found much closer to home than you might think."

"You sicken me," she said blankly, unable to overcome her terror. "I am revolted by you, by your touch, by your mere presence."

"I'm flattered I have such an effect." Jonathan tossed Clary aside. "See to it soon, sister, for I will check tonight. And if just _one _of those mutts is out of bed, you'll never see any of them again."

Clary held herself up against a wall, watching her brother with wide eyes. She knew he wasn't lying, his calm face and slight smile were the warning signs of so much else. She thought at once of her friends, tucked in her room, and how most slaves were expected in bed not long after the final dishes of dinner were washed. She didn't have much time.

"As you'll have it, brother," Clary said and dropped into a curtsey before running off.

Outside her door, Clary took a moment to compose herself. She didn't have much time to get them gone, and she didn't know how to explain to them why they had to go. Her mind raced as she absently fixed her hair and dusted the creases out of her skirt. She knew she didn't have an option, she knew she had only one way of seeing them all gone, and she hated it.

When Clary tossed open the doors to her rooms, she found an endearing scene before her. Alec and Jace were speaking softly to one and other of their homes, and Max was curled up on Isabelle's lap, sleeping. There were empty plates and cups of mulled wine on the table, sense of contentment in the air. Luke was curled up near the fire, his ears twitching with each change of voice, but when the doors opened, Luke's head shot up, his eyes at once on Clary. Alec, Isabelle, and Jace followed his line of vision and froze.

Clary looked rather different than usual. Her face was blank and imperious, her head high, and her eyes cold and sharp. When her eyes landed on them, her lips tightened. "Get out of my rooms," she ordered.

Isabelle was the most shocked, and her face showed it. "Clarissa…?"

"I said, get out of my rooms, Isabelle. Did you misunderstand?" Clary marched forward, looking a furious queen. "I won't have you here, not tonight, not again. Go back to your beds and stay there."

Isabelle, surprised by her coldness, rose slowly, shaking Max away. She dropped into a bow and came up pale. "But, don't you want me to stay and see to your hair and bed and breakfast?"

"No, Isabelle," Clary responded. "I don't want you. You are dismissed and may return when I call. Until then, return to your service in the kitchens, or the stables, or wherever it is you work." Clary wondered if she had hurt the girl quite enough. "I have _maids _to care for me and my things, their hands aren't nearly so clumsy as that of a farm hand."

The barb stung, Clary could see, and for a moment, she thought Isabelle might respond back with a barb of her own, but the girl was too frightened to face down Clary, so she bowed again, took Max's had and pulled him away. Max was staring after Clary, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. At the door, Isabelle paused and summed up her courage. "I'm sorry, milady, if I offended you. I hope you'll forgive me whatever it was I, or my family, did. I must have overstepped my bounds."

Clary couldn't bare the look on Isabelle's face, maybe because she felt as if she were losing her friend. Her gaze softened just a little. "You did nothing, Isabelle, but this is how things are meant to be. I am a princess, you a slave. I will be queen, and you will be nothing. It's best if we stop this masquerade now."

Alec rose, confused but aware that they were no longer wanted. He joined his sister at the door and gave Clary a lost look. With nothing to say, he simply raised his bandaged arm in a gesture of thanks and led his siblings from the room. Clary watched them go with regret. When she turned, she found Jace seated exactly where he had been, watching her with narrowed golden eyes.

_Why must you be here? Why you, of all people?_

"I don't believe you were exempt from the expulsion," Clary observed coldly. "You may go."

"I will," said Jace, "but I'm a little curious as to the change of heart. What happened to the kind, generous princess who looked upon slaves like people? Where is Jocelyn's daughter?"

Clary gasped at the use of her mother's name, but knew Jace was trying to get a rise from her. "I am my mother's daughter, and she is no fool. You were right, Jace, no princess and slave could ever be friends. I understand reason."

"Reason?" Jace asked, and flicked her eyes over her body. She looked strangely frail, listing slightly to the side, her head bowing, and her eyes cast downward. He stared a minute longer and saw the flush in her cheeks, and, upon closer inspection, the bright red mark around her eye. "Or you understand the back of someone's hand?"

Clary's head snapped up. "What nonsense is this? Get away from me Jace. Run back to your pretty slave girl; perhaps she will be most hospitable to your needs."

Jace shrugged. "More hospitable, surely, but more interesting, I think not. Who hit you?" When Clary continued to stare, Jace rose to his feet, but his eyes never wavered. "Was it your father? I certainly wouldn't put it past him. Valentine does not balk at the suffering of others, why not his daughter?" Jace came lazily toward her. "But no, he might be a monster, but you've flouted him before and he doesn't hit you. He has more painful ways of punishing you, and he doesn't need to touch you to do it."

"Get away from me, slave!" Clary hissed, fearing she might give herself away.

"Calling me slave, maybe that will get me to go?" Jace laughed. "So, not your father, then a jealous lover? You have so many as it is, but I don't think so. No man would be stupid enough to strike the princess." Jace now stood before Clary, and in his eyes, Clary saw something she'd never seen. Sharp intelligence and bright fury. "So, who could it be? The man with a nerve and courage to strike the princess." He paused, thoughtful. "Jonathan."

It wasn't a question, and Clary turned away just as Jace's hand brushed her cheek. "You need to leave," was all she said.

"Why do you allow it?" he asked mildly. He wasn't angry. He wasn't concerned. He didn't even sound that surprised. No, he just sounded curious. "You are a princess. Surely your father would protect you. Valentine must know by now."

Clary glanced up. "Jonathan was deep in his cups and he lost his temper."

"And how often is Jonathan _deep in his cups_? He certainly wasn't last night when he struck you." Jace forced Clary to look back into his face. "Yes, I know what I heard Clary, and I know what I saw. Why does he strike you? More importantly, why do you allow it?"

Clary's blood went cold. "You don't know what you saw." She jerked away from him and pushed him backward. Jace let her, sensing some deep inside begging for release. "Do you think I like to be struck? Do you think I like the hiding? You really are a mindless animal, aren't you?" Clary spun about, words surging up her throat. "Because he is the prince, and will one day be king, that's why."

"He's not the king yet," Jace said evenly. "You treat him like he already controls you, but it is Valentine who holds the power in his hands. Not Jonathan."

Clary looked at Jace, really looked at him, and she remembered the thought she's had the day she first saw him. He was handsome, beautiful in way so rare among men. Had he been born a girl, he would have been made some man's bed mate, but he'd been born a boy. But…Jonathan's threat rang in her mind and she wondered if that's what Jonathan meant. That wasn't possible, it just wasn't, but would Jonathan have threatened it if he wasn't ready to go through with it? Her eyes raked Jace and saw his handsome face, gold eyes, delicate bones and curly hair. He was too beautiful.

Slowly, like a snake, Clary approached Jace. She rose up on tip toe and whispered softly in his ear: "Jonathan has been raised to be king, and he should be feared as one. Anything he wants is his, his will is made real, and his wants are the kingdom's needs. You should fear him, Jace, for he owns you more completely than I do. You should be wary always of his shadow, for he will stalk you. I know when a battle is lost, and I lost to Jonathan long ago. All you can do now is live with as much dignity as you can muster. But always-_always_-be wary of him."

Jace released his breath and blinked slowly. Clary looked like one possessed. She was smiling slightly, like she'd gone half mad, and her eyes were wide and staring. Her body fidgeted as if she were trying to contain too much energy. "I do not fear him."

Clary laughed sharply, taking him by the wrist and dragging him to the door. Luke followed, his growls ripping from his throat. He sounded ready to lunge for Jace's throat. When they reached the door, Clary shoved him through it. "Go, Jace, you hard-headed fool and take your delusions with you. Leave me to my towers, and my riches, and my loneliness. It's how things ought to be you know." Clary turned and went to close the doors. "I'll do you as much kindness as I can, Jace, but I am almost as helpless as you now."

Before Jace could reply, Clary shut the door in his face. He stared a moment, wondering just how alone and helpless Clary really was. He meant to knock on the door, but he heard the sound of heavy footsteps and turned a fled. As he rounded and corner and made for the slave quarters, Jonathan rounded the corner. He looked around quickly checking for any unwanted eyes, and then he carefully opened the door to his sister's room.

When Jonathan entered, he found Clary seated before the fire, sipping a mug of mulled wine, thoughtlessly rubbing the space between Luke's ears. The great dog's nose twitched when Jonathan entered, but that was all. The breast had learned early on that it was better to wait for Jonathan to attack, that way, he might have the upper hand in the response. Clary, seemingly lost in thought, took another sip of wine and absently rubbed her feet.

"Dear, Clarissa," he said by way of welcome. Clary didn't even move when she heard her name. "You look so sung and comfortable, tucked in your robes." Jonathan crossed the room and sat down on the couch across Clary. "Might I join you in a mug of wine?"

Clary's lip quirked, as if she had a choice. Delicately, she shrugged.

"You know, your silence is not as endearing as you might think," Jonathan observed wryly. "I thought perhaps, by now, given out kinship, you might have opened up to me. I find your silence rather insulting."

The fingers in Luke's fur coat stopped their mindless motion and her eyes lifted up from the hearth and the fire within. "I do not mean to insult, brother, simply to ignore."

Jonathan's jaw tightened. "I can't imagine why. I've never been anything but a good brother to you. I've always looked after your interests; I could never bear to have my sister the butt of some cruel joke." His eyes darted about the room. "You are alone, I see. Gotten rid of your followers?"

Clary felt his reply like the bite of a whip. "They are not my followers, they are my servants, and you will find them in the slave quarters where they belong. Please, Jonathan, leave me to my peace. I am tired."

"You will understand one day soon, Clary, that I work for your own good." Jonathan rose and surveyed her chambers. They were empty and she was alone with her bitter self; it made Jonathan smile. "One day, I hope you will repay me."

Isabelle and Alec waited patiently in the slave chambers, standing in the corner of the small common room, hiding in the shadows of the bustling slaves. It was a small chamber, not larger than Clary's sitting room, and it had only one fire and a hearth rug, but it was the only place the slaves were allowed to socialize outside of work. They knew Jace would have to pass through if he wanted to reach his bed, and as he had nowhere else to sleep, they would catch him.

"What do you think is wrong with her?" Isabelle asked Alec softly. "With Clary, I mean. I've never seen her so…so fragile."

"Perhaps, Isabelle, she really is Valentine's daughter," he suggested bitterly. Alec had found himself liking the princess, and her strange habits, and her unusual kindness. He didn't know what had changed in her, but Clary wasn't the girl he knew from rumors.

"No," Isabelle said firmly. "She is _not _that woman."

Just then, Jace came through the entrance, his face clouded and his eyes dark. When he saw Alec and Isabelle waiting, he slowly crossed over to them. Alec gave him a long look before speaking. "So, what do you think it is?"

Jace stared at him and Isabelle for a long moment. He was weighing his chances, wondering how the two would take to the truth. Was it a betrayal to Clary if he revealed her horrible secret? He knew if it were him, he wouldn't want the world to know that he was being struck, but Clary was in a position different from his. She was a small, fragile girl, one he looked on and saw nothing but beauty and tragedy. She _deserved_ better than to be struck.

"Is there somewhere we can go that's away from the crowd?" Jace asked softly.

"Yes," Isabelle said at once, turning to the alcove in the corner that was tucked under the stairs. "Why, what is it?"

Jace shook his head. "Something better spoken of in private.

"Father, may I speak to you?" It was Jonathan, coming upon his father in his private study. Valentine was bent over a book, its crisp pages rustling dryly as he turned pages. When Jonathan spoke, his father didn't even glance up. He pressed his lips together, finished a paragraph, and then glanced up to his son.

"Jonathan, come in. Speak with me." He gestured in with a hand wave.

Jonathan settled in a chair. "I'm concerned with Clarissa," he began at once. "She's taken to locking herself up with her slaves. I don't think it's appropriate behavior of a princess, and I've got my eye on one of the boys…"

Valentine raised an eyebrow. "Your brotherly concern is overwhelming."

"You know that's not why I've come to you," Jonathan said sharply.

This time, Valentine smiled. "Ah, yes, Jonathan…_that_. I always told your mother you were too close, but she thought it harmless fun. She thought siblings were meant to be so close." Valentine shook his head. "However, I indulged your mother, and so, am responsible; that is why I indulge you now." Valentine leaned back in seat and watched Jonathan squirm a little. "So, son, what is it that has disturbed you about your sister's servants?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. "The boy, the blond boy, I don't think she should keep him about her rooms."

"The blond boy?" Valentine's grey eyes sharpened and his gaze turned hard. "Who is this boy?"

"I don't know his name, Father," Jonathan scowled. "Only that he is golden haired, golden skinned, and golden eyed."

"You don't say," murmured Valentine. "I've only known one person to ever have gold eyes. I knew her so very long ago…" Valentine paused, thoughtful. "I don't wish to take any chances with this. Get me that name."

"Yes, Father," Jonathan replied, realizing his father was dismissing him. He stood and tipped his head oddly. "Thank you for looking into this. I don't think Clary will respect my wishes so much as yours."

"Oh, you have Clary's respect I think-at least, you have her fear." Valentine laughed. As Jonathan turned to leave, Valentine tapped his desk. "Oh, and Jonathan, bring me the boy."


	10. The Doctor

The Doctor

Tension filled the kitchen air and Aline's eyes turned up unconsciously. She surveyed the rest of the kitchens before spotting the intruding figure, she gasped and dropped the knife she'd been holding. It clattered to the floor and vanished beneath the table she'd been chopping celery on. Aline sank to the floor, out of sight, praying to every god she knew that he'd just go, just pass through the kitchen and go on to his life, and leave her and her fears behind. Her fingers groped under the table, grazing the knife. Aline curled her fingers about the handle, holding it like she might a dagger for defense.

"Looking for a piece of cheese, little mouse?"

Aline felt her heart stop. "N-no, milord," she stuttered, keeping her eyes down.

Jonathan reached down and scooped Aline's chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. Aline's terror locked her throat up as she stared into his black eyes. It was like looking into a void, nothingness. Aline wished she knew how to use a weapon.

"So, tell me, little mouse, what's on the floor?" Jonathan's eyes moved to her hands, and his fingers slipped between hers. She dropped the knife again, wishing she had the strength to pick it back up. "Ah, a little knife for the little mouse. Do you even know how to hold this?"

When Aline tried to speak, to beg for him to just leave, Jonathan sliced the air with the knife, leveling it with her throat. She felt the cold edge of the knife kiss her throat and she tried to pull back. Jonathan's hand caught the back of her neck and forced her forward. "You see, little mouse, how this handy blade of yours so quickly turns against you? Do you see just how dangerous a knife can be in the wrong hands…or, should I say, the right hands? Like this knife, information is just as deadly, and just as valuable. In fact, information is just as protective."

"Mi-milord?" Aline stuttered, trying to ignore the pressure of the blade. She pleaded with her eyes, but Jonathan's smile was a sharp as the blade.

"You seem to know what goes on in this household, little mouse. That's useful for a man like me whose concerns are not what goes on in his household but only the overall function. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

"I-I'm sorry, milord, but-but I don't understand…"

Jonathan sighed and rolled his eyes. "Stupid little mouse, I want you to answer my questions, and if you answer well, I'll reward you."

"I'm just a kitchen maid," Aline said in a rush. "I don't know anything important-"

"This I know, but you might know something useless. Something useless about a certain boy." Jonathan slid the knife up, and began tracing Aline's mouth with the tip of the blade. "You know something, and I _want _to know, and you're going to tell me."

"Please, milord, just let me go. I can't help you." Aline looked about frantically, desperately hoping that someone else would come for her rescue. A few glanced her way, but she was too unpopular and disliked. A small part of her regretted her hard exterior, but then, if she wasn't that strong, she suspected she might already have gone to tears.

"Tell me about the boy, Jace," Jonathan said sharply.

"_Jace_?" Aline gasped.

"Yes, you know, handsome, blond, stubborn. I want to know about him." Jonathan's hand, holding her head turned to a stroking motion in her hair. "Just tell me what you know about him, little mouse, and I'll make sure you're well rewarded for it. Just tell me a little about him."

"I don't know anything about him." Jonathan's hand turned hard and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "He serves your sister, I know. He's friends with the Lightwood slaves, you know, Isabelle, the princess's other slave. He mentioned that he grew up in the country, in a manor," Aline said frantically, "and he can read and write. He's smart and knows how to ride a horse, and-"

"Shut up," Jonathan said sharply. "He likes the Lightwoods, eh? How very charming, and a little group of slave friends." Jonathan laughed and stood, dropping the knife before Aline. "Very well, little mouse, you've served me well. I'll have some food sent to you, maybe a new dress." He looked down at her with a sneer. "God knows, you need something."

He strode away, smirking at the kitchen manager as he went. Jonathan turned for the slave quarters, the smirk still in place, and descended to the small common room to wait for a lull in the slaves' work. The time passed slowly, but Jonathan didn't mind; he liked to have time to think and plan and imagine all he could do. It was a balm on his usually restless, angry mind.

Slowly, the slaves filed in. When they saw Jonathan waiting, they checked on the spot, and when they recognized him, a few panicked and looked back the way they had come. Jonathan gleamed at them all with glowing, black eyes. The sneer was still in place when Isabelle came in, holding Max by the hand. She noticed everyone staring and followed they gaze. When she saw Jonathan the blood rushed from her face.

"My lord," she said, bowing low, and tweaking Max for him to do the same. "Has the Princess Clarissa called?"

"Not quite," he answered and swept over to her. "But you're to coming with me all the same." His eyes landed on Max. "Your little brother, too."

Isabelle's grip on Max tightened and she pulled him to her skirt. "Max doesn't need to come with us, my lord. He's needed back in the dining hall to stoke the fire. The warden gets furious when Max is late. Please, I don't want my brother to get in trouble…"

Jonathan held up a hand to silence Isabelle. "I will speak with warden. He won't challenge me. Now get your brother up and come with me." His dark eyes flickered over Max, and the small boy stared back with a considering look. With a sharp turn on his heel, Jonathan strode off, Isabelle and Max following miserably in his wake.

Max decided he didn't like Jonathan. The young man had the straight back of a soldier, but the stalking walk of a panther. His dark eyes seemed empty and cold, and only came to life with a frightening fire. He reminded Max of flint. When he led them into the great hall, Isabelle checked on the spot and paused. She was only ever brought to the great hall when Clary was dining and she was there to wait on her. Jonathan spun about when he didn't hear her footsteps following him.

"Why have you stopped?" he demanded, an ugly frown on his face.

"I-I'm sorry, my lord," she said, giving Max a tug and drawing him forward. "I'm just not used to such grandeur."

"I'm not surprised," he sneered. They crossed the hall and approached a set of double doors, flanked on either side by two guards. They bowed to Jonathan respectfully. "Do you know what this place is?" he asked as the guards opened the door for them.

"I'm not sure…" Isabelle murmured, but she knew deep down where she was.

"This is the king's privy chamber. The antechamber is where my father meets with advisors and councilors." He watched shock wash over Isabelle. "You will be meeting with my father here; something unheard of, I think."

"The-the King?" Isabelle gasped, this time stumbling to a stop. "But-but, my lord, what does he want with me and Max? Princess Clarissa sent us away, but she wasn't angry with us. It was just-"

"I'm glad she did," cut in Jonathan. "I really don't want my sister consorting with the likes of you. But don't flatter yourself," Jonathan laughed, turning about and giving his a dark look, "my father doesn't want to see you. In fact, he won't. I'm just using you to draw in that stupid, yellow boy of yours."

"Jace?" Isabelle whispered. "What do you want with him?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," Jonathan said, waving a hand. "We'll take good care of him. For now, though, let's you and me have some fun."

"I still don't understand," Alec murmured to Jace who was shoeing a feisty stallion. Carefully, Alec took a brush and began to untangle the horse's mane. He didn't want the already aggressive stallion to buck and kick Jace. "How can the Princess be in trouble? I mean, she's the Princess-"

"Quiet!" Jace hissed, his golden eyes darting surreptitiously about the barn. "If someone heard you I dare say you'd be in for a hell of time."

"Me?" Alec asked, outraged.

"You really think Clary would admit to anything like that? She'd deny any of it and her brother would have you killed." Jace ran his fingers along the horse's hoof and nodded faintly. "Jonathan isn't going to risk having you running your mouth about his nasty little side business."

Alec considered his words and knew just how much truth there was to it. "I don't understand how a woman of-of her status could possibly be in that type of danger. She has guards, she has maids, she has servants. It's not like she needs us."

"I think she does," Jace mused softly. "I think she's trapped by her _status _and has no way of getting out. Who can she tell? I assume her father already knows about it, and he clearly isn't interested in helping her."

"Well, what can we do? She sent us away, Jace." Alec stopped brushing down the horse to take a long look at Jace. From his position, he caught the view of Jace's back and mop of hair. Even that was enough to bring faint heat to his face. Jace was handsome in a way that no other man he ever met was. He seemed to glow golden like the sun, and burned with all its heat. No one was as intriguing or mysterious as him…

…Except, of course, the doctor.

Alec tried to push the memories of the strange eyes and seductive purr from his mind. Magnus Bane had been haunting Alec's dreams for some nights now, and all he wanted was the rid himself of the image of his face. Or maybe, all he wanted was to see the man again.

"She sent us away, but she can't send us from the castle. We're still around, and there's got to be a way to help." Jace frowned in thought. He didn't realize just how much Clary's predicament had affected him till then. He'd never been so consumed by a need to be around someone, never _wanted_ someone so bad. "She won't talk to me, she's not too pleased with me. But, maybe, she'd listen to Isabelle-"

"Alec!" The sound of footsteps pounding along the cobblestone drew them both out of their thoughts. A young woman was racing toward them, her skirts gathered in her hands and her hair flying behind her in her desperation to reach them. She skittered to a halt before the horse they were working on. "Isabelle and Max are gone!"

"What?" Alec demanded leaping over the stall door and snatching the girl's hand. "What do you mean, Maia, they're gone?"

Maia shook her head uselessly, glancing once at Jace. "They were taken away, that's what the maids said. They said they saw Isabelle and Max leave with-with Jonathan."

"_Jonathan_?" Jace rasped, joined Alec and staring hard at Maia. "They went with Jonathan for what?"

Maia, Jace noticed, didn't look like the casual slave. She didn't have the same broken look in her eyes, or the slump of her shoulders that spoke to her years of enslavement. No, she looked like a woman with some fight left in her, and he wondered why he'd never met her.

Maia caught Jace looking at her, but just shook off his hand and turned to Alec. "I don't know, but he marched them off to the King's antechamber a little bit ago. Perhaps they're to go before the king?"

"Go before the King for what?" Alec demanded. "My sister hasn't done anything! And Max, Max is just a little boy."

Maia shrugged. "I wouldn't know, but everyone has been gossiping about how Isabelle was dismissed from the Princess's service. Perhaps the King has taken it upon himself to discover why."

"Clary wouldn't do that," Jace said stoutly, and Maia gave him a penetrating look.

"I wouldn't know much about the Princess nowadays, since I haven't been in her service many years, but, may I ask, what do you know?"

Jace looked affronted, since usually his looks could win him any woman's good favor, especially one Maia's age. "I serve her."

Maia gave him a quick up and down. "I heard you were dismissed from her service, too; let me guess, she was madly in love with you and her father had you sent away?" Maia laughed without mirth. "Alec, what are you doing with this trouble-maker? I thought you'd listen to sense better, if not your own, than mine."

"Just who are?" Jace demanded. "It's not like you've got anything on me, seeing as we're both in the service of the King."

Maia smiled. "_I _am in the service of the king, you are in his slavery. I am a maid, paid and respected."

This pulled Jace up short, and he had to give her appearance another searching look. He noticed, under closer inspection, that this was possible. Maia was dressed better than the slaves, her clothing clean and unwrinkled, a pair of well polished boots peeking out from under her swaying skirts. She'd tamed her wild hair into a knot with ribbon and pins, and her eyes held something of a challenge in them.

"So surprised, boy?"

Jace swallowed. "I didn't know the staff was in the habit of making friends with the slaves."

"Only a select few," Maia said stiffly. "Now, Alec, if Jonathan took Isabelle and Max to see the King, you're going to need to call in whatever favors you have from anyone with rank. They'll have to go before the King for you."

"There's no one," Alec murmured hopelessly. "I'm a slave, Maia, I spend my days in the basement, cooking and cleaning. Is there no other way to help them?"

Maia looked hopeless. "I don't know why they're being taken to the King, so I can't say what you could do. Only that it must be quick if you wish to do any good."

"What am I supposed to do?" Alec moaned. "Isabelle was friends with the Princess, not me. The only person I ever met was the warden, and I don't think he's going to pull any strings for me."

"What about the doctor?" Jace asked suddenly. "The one Clary called to clean your wound? He seemed fond of you."

"I've got no clue where he is," Alec muttered. "Anyway, I hardly think he'd risk his position for my sister, no matter how fond of me he was." However, a small hope lingered in Alec that maybe the doctor would help if he went to him. Maybe things would be better if he went to him regardless.

"It's not a poor idea," Maia mused, something secret racing through her eyes, something only Jace took notice of. "Magnus Bane is a peculiar man, and he's been known to make exceptions for those he calls friends. Besides, I hardly think he's in danger of losing his position. When Jocelyn first came here with Valentine, pregnant with Jonathan, she brought Magnus in tow, and completely refused to send him away when Valentine marched every physician in the land before her. He seemed to think very little of the medicine of the east. But Jocelyn refused, and Magnus bore her both Jonathan and Clarissa." Maia looked away sadly. "I think Valentine keeps Magnus around out of respect for Jocelyn, and he wouldn't lightly dismiss him."

"Should we go get him?" Jace asked sharply. "Where would he be?"

Maia considered this for a moment. "Alec, you should go get Magnus, I'm sure you're his preference. You, boy, should go to King's antechamber and linger there. There's only one door in that room, and if, for some reason, Isabelle and Max are allowed to leave, you'll be there to catch them."

Jace wanted to argue that he wasn't a baby sitter, but the look of fear on Alec's face and the tension that was turning his stomach stilled his voice. "Alright, I'll go now. Alec, go find Magnus and be as quick as you can."

"I don't think I'll need telling twice," Alec said as Jace sprinted off at an incredible speed. Turning back to Maia, Alec said, "Where is Magnus?"

"Follow me," Maia said, and she set off, Alec like her shadow.

Alec, admittedly, didn't know Maia all that well. When he and his siblings had first come to the castle, Isabelle had been assigned to Clary's retinue at once, and Maia had arrived, there to train Isabelle in the duties of a handmaid of the Princess. She had been kindly and gentle, and wasn't at all offended by their status as slaves. Instead, Maia had treated them like people, going so far as to tell Max stories. However, she'd never really mentioned her personal life, never given them even an inkling of where she was from or what she had done before coming here. Maia, had, of course, nothing but good things to say for the King and his family, and was quite knowledgeable about Jocelyn and the Princess, but while her conversation was lively and light, her thoughts were her own. Alec often thought Maia had simple appeared from the ether with nothing but and smile and a faint memory of her previous life.

"Hurry up, Alec, we don't really have time to spare," Maia called over her shoulder as they raced for the west side of the castle. A few people gave them curious stares, but Maia paid them no heed. "Magnus usually just stays in his apartments, making _things_."

"You seem to know him well," Alec commented casually.

Maia smiled sweetly. "I came here with him."

When they arrived at Magnus's rooms Alec felt a strange hesitation steal through him. He trusted Maia enough, but Magnus was a strange man, hailing from far away. How much would he really do to help Isabelle and Max? Maia however, seemed very satisfied as she knocked loudly on the door. Alec gave her a startled stare. What type of maid pounded on the royal physician's door?

There was a long silence, almost a minute, then the handle wiggled and the door swung open. Magnus Bane, in all his exotic glory, stood before them. "To what do I own this honor?" he said sarcastically.

"Always a pleasure, Magnus," Maia said before Alec could even begin to explain the situation. She tipped his a quick bow, like a second thought. "We seem to find ourselves in a slight conundrum, and thought perhaps you might be able to aid us."

Magnus rubbed his chin tiredly. "Whatever you've gotten yourself into this time, I'm really not in any position to help you out Maia. Last time with that lord was bad enough, I had to say you had a raging fever that had left you addle-brained-"

"This isn't about me, Magnus, however, it is of a delicate nature, and I think its best discussed in the privacy of your apartments," said Maia pointedly.

For the first time, Magnus seemed to notice Alec, and his eyes sparkled, either with curiosity or understanding, Alec didn't know. However, he swept aside after a second, tipping his head slightly, "As you'll have it, my dear. Do come in."

Alec followed Maia in cautiously, wondering what the doctor kept his living area like, and was not the least bit shocked to find the place a strange concoction of modern and ancient. His rooms, Alec noticed were very much the same as the Princess's, with a large sitting room, private bedroom, study, and bath. However, the decorations that adorned Magnus's rooms were much different.

There hung in the air, a strange smell, sharp and tangy, but after a moment or two, relaxing. The rugs upon the floor were exotic, covered in images of dragons and demons, bursting with color. Books that looked thousands of years old lingered on shelves, and upon the walls were tapestries of aged mages performing great feats of magic, usually in battle. It took a moment for Alec to notice that the light in the room seemed red, like the color of a setting a sun, which confused him, since he knew it was just after high noon. When he found the window, he saw at once what Magnus had done, and could appreciate the creativity. Either through paint or some other form Magnus had worked, the window panes were red, orange, and yellow, creating a perpetual sunset.

"Don't just stand there," Magnus said sharply to Alec. "Sit down. You look as if you're in pain."

"Well actually-"

"Magnus, we've come because you're the only man with any pull on the King who I can call a friend," Maia began. "And a friend of mine is in danger of the King's wrath."

Magnus, who had been turned to the fire, watching the flames dance, stirred. "And what do you expect me to do, Maia? I am a _doctor_, not a politician. I cannot dissuade the King if he's made his mind, maybe Jocelyn…but Valentine, no."

"Please, it's my sister and brother!" Alec finally said, tired of being ignored while Jonathan could be hurting them. "Jonathan took them to the King and they haven't done anything, but he's going to hurt them anyway because Clarissa dismissed us-"

"What?" Magnus rounded on Alec, for the first time seeming at all interested in what they had to say. "Clary dismissed you? Why?"

Alec's mind went blank for a minute before he found his voice. Quietly, he said, "She told us to go. She didn't want us in her rooms anyway; we couldn't be her friends. She's a princess, and we're slaves."

Magnus narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't sound like Clary," he murmured softly, glancing surreptitiously to Maia. "What happened?"

"I don't know. She came back from dinner furious and told us to leave." Alec was staring to get frantic. "What does it matter how the Princess feels about us? My sister and brother are in danger!"

"It matters, Alec, because that doesn't hold at all with Ms. Clary, and I've known her for quite some time." Magnus turned away and returned to his place by the fire. "Whatever is happening to your siblings is just the fallout from something much larger, and I'll be damned if it hasn't got something to do with Clary."

"Damned, indeed," Maia said, and Alec noticed that she was smirking slightly.

Magnus gave her meaningful look. "Jonathan is a snake, he always has been, ever since he was boy. I warned his mother to keep an eye on him…to never let him wander…" Magnus's voice faltered as he fell into thought. It was a few minutes before his back snapped up. "Jonathan is evil, this I've known long enough, but the boy does a good job hiding it. But take heart, whatever reason he took your sister and brother, it's not for them alone. He has no interest in a farm girl made slave. No, he wants something else."

Maia stirred. "Clary?"

"No," Magnus said softly. "He's no fool, Clary is a good woman, but she wouldn't risk herself for the girl."

Alec had lost track of the conversation, furious that no one seemed all that concerned for his sister and brother, and confused that a maid and doctor would openly speak treason. He ran his hand through his hair before jumping to his feet. "I can't sit here anymore. I don't care why Jonathan's done what he's done, only that he's done it! I need to protect Isabelle and Max, and if you two are more interested in figuring out the Prince's intentions do it, but without me."

"Always a fool!" snapped Magnus. "This is why your people died, why your land was razed, why you're a slave. You never _think_! You are so concerned with the here and now that you don't give a thought to cause. If there's a landslide, all you do is run from the rocks, but you never wonder you could have done to prevent it!"

"Why would I?" Alec demanded. "If the rocks are coming at me with my death, why wonder why?"

"How will you stop it next time?" Magnus demanded. "How will you protect yourself, or, if not yourself, others? There's more going on here than your sister and brother, they've just been caught up in it. Now, if I'm going to help you, I need to see the big picture, I need to see what Jonathan wants, how he's going to get it, and how we can stop him. That way, he won't need your brother and sister anymore."

Alec had paled at Magnus's anger. "I just want to help my brother and sister."

"So do I, Alec," Magnus said, not unkindly. "So, let's think, what could he want? Who would go to him for Isabelle and Max?"

"No one except me," Alec said simply, doubting that Jonathan would ever consider him anything more than a slave. "There's no one who cares enough."

Maia gasped suddenly. "What about Jace?"

Magnus paled suddenly. "Jace? The boy who Clary bought?"

"What would Jonathan want with Jace?" Alec asked, perplexed. "He' just a boy."

"Of course he's just a boy," Magnus said softly. "Just a boy, who knows his way around a castle, a boy with an education, a boy with a trained wit, a boy who knows his history. Where is Jace?"

The silence outside the King's antechamber set Jace on edge. It was as if the world had shrunk down to just this room and the one closed off to him, and he alone, was the only inhabitant. Whatever might have been occurring in the room had not escalated, though it was by no means, over. Part of Jace wanted to throw the doors open and rush in. He wasn't afraid on Jonathan, not in the least.

_Not being afraid, doesn't mean you go running head first into a fight though. You know better than that, _Jace reminded himself. _It might just be a mistake, and you bursting in would only upset it. Perhaps the King isn't really interested in Isabelle and Max. _

Jace sunk onto the floor, relaxing against the wall behind him. He could watch the entrance hall and hear everything going on inside the doors. It was an ideal waiting place until Alec, Maia, and Magnus arrived. Maybe even Clary would come…

_Don't fool yourself, _he thought bitterly. _Whatever else might happen, Clary isn't coming. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't. Something is keeping her away, and pushing you out. _

Still, it didn't hurt for Jace to think of Clary, and he found himself doing just that. She was still confusing to him, still a puzzle he couldn't quite work. She was in danger, he knew, danger from her brother, but her father didn't seem to care. Her mother wasn't dead, to the best of anyone's knowledge, but she had run off for some reason. And still, that madness that lingered in Clary's eyes; it was the most troubling. He couldn't think of a time when he'd seem someone so emotionally shattered, so sharp and wounded at once.

_Whatever is doing this, you'll have to act fast because Clary looks about one more good blow away from losing her mind-_

A terrified scream broke through Jace' thoughts, and then was cut short so quickly he thought it was his imagination. But Jace knew better, Isabelle had yelled, and then been silenced by a hand. Jace launched himself to his feet, not sure what he was going to do, but preparing himself all the same. His fingers just grazed the door when a hand with grip like iron closed on his arm and jerked him to his knees. When he looked up at the man holding him, he felt his mouth go dry.

It was Valentine, and his face was wore the most curious, interested look ever. As if he had just discovered a new species. His eyes raked Jace's face and then dropped to his chest where the gold chain Clary had given him winked out. Slowly, Valentine's lips turned up at the edges.

"So you must be Jace." His gaze drifted up to Jace's eyes lazily. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most _unique_ color of eyes? _Almost _one of a kind."


	11. A Lord Unveiled

A Lord Unveiled

Isabelle, Max, Alec, Magnus, and Maia must have crossed paths in the stairs in such a frantic state, that they almost kept running through one and other. But Max, always sharp of eye, recognized Maia, always having been rather fond of her. He had run headlong into her knees, and in his outrage, had made to tell her off, but after a glance at her wild, curly hair and round, brown eyes, he felt a blush cover his cheeks.

"Isabelle, Max-"

"Alec-"

"Where have you been?" Maia managed to make herself heard over the rabble. "Are you okay?"

"I doesn't matter," Isabelle panted. "They have Jace! The King and Jonathan have Jace. I saw it happen."

"I was there too!" piped up Max. "I saw the King drag Jace into the room by his hair, and throw him next to the fire. And Jonathan-"

"Jonathan started laughing and threw us out." Isabelle placed her hand over Max's mouth to silence him. "He slammed the door in our face, but they kept Jace. I don't know what they've done or why they kept him, but we've got to help."

"Calm down," Magnus said, reaching forward and catching Isabelle's shoulder. She shrugged him off the first time, but Magnus took her shoulder in a much stronger grip a second time. "Stop struggling and listen to me, girl."

"Why?" Isabelle demanded. "What do you care about Jace? He's just a slave to you, isn't he?"

Magnus squeezed tighter on her shoulder. "Don't presume to tell me how I feel about a person. Now, I'm telling you, Isabelle, to calm down and listen to me. You're over reacting to a situation you've already lost."

"What do you mean?" Alec said suddenly, joining Isabelle before Magnus. "You said you could help Jace."

"No, I was trying to _prevent_ Jace from being hurt, by finding Isabelle and Max and getting them away. If Valentine and Jonathan have Jace, there is little I can do now. If Jace was who Valentine was after, then he's certainly not going to give him up to me." Alec opened his mouth, but Magnus held up his hand. "Even if I was Jocelyn's favorite, he wouldn't hand the boy over now."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Alec said stoutly. "We can't just abandon him."

"No," Magnus mused softly, glancing at Isabelle and Max carefully. "No, we can't, but it's too late to intervene. You three should come back to my room and see if I can't fix you up. Maia, I think you ought to inform the Princess."

Maia stepped forward, and her eyes were gleaming. "And tell her what, pray tell? That the slave boy she isn't supposed to be seen with has been abducted by her father and she must rush to his aid with nothing but her wit and charm to win him over? Clary can't help!"

"She needs to know; this is more about her than I think she suspects," Magnus said, giving Maia a hard look. "I understand you want to protect her, but there is no more time for protecting and hiding. She needs to be prepared for a war."

"A war against who?" Isabelle said quickly.

"Think nothing of it," Magnus answered delicately. "Whoever it's against, it's not your battle to fight. Maia, go to Clary and tell her I'd like to call on her, I'll see to these three."

Maia looked ready to argue, but Magnus shot her a meaningful look and she tipped him a poor bow before turning and heading for the Princess. Magnus carefully placed an arm about Isabelle's shoulder and drew her and her brothers away. Isabelle was in outrage that Magnus had seemingly abandoned Jace to his fate with nothing but a sigh, and she dug her heels in whenever she could, shooting Alec pointed glares. Max was in shock that someone could be oblivious to another's suffering.

"Some doctor you've proven to be," Isabelle said after a few minutes of silence. "Do you always leave the wounded to their deaths?"

Magnus rolled their eyes. "I could leave the rude to their miserable devices, but I don't do that, so why would I abandon my patients?" When Isabelle struggled to find an answer, Magnus went on. "Please, dear girl, tell me why I do what I do. Why do I go out of my way to help a creature, something not considered a person, when they are in danger? Why risk my own neck? Do tell."

"Why are we leaving Jace?" Isabelle finally said when they arrived before Magnus's rooms. He let them in, checking the halls. "I don't understand why we don't go back and fight."

"This isn't a war fought with swords and magic," Magnus answered as he closed the door soundly. "This isn't a war that can be won with brute force. This is a war fought in the shadows, fought by ghosts and memories, at the sharpened tip of guilt."

"What do you mean?" Alec asked.

"I mean that no amount of soldiers or arms will win this war; Valentine is too ready for it. You must see it, no? All those poor people who fight to the death at the hands of Valentine's banner right before they meet the bitter end, be it slavery or death? They go to war with weapons in their hands, and where does it get them? Nowhere." Magnus shook his head at their folly, and directed Isabelle to the couch before his fire. As soon as she sat, he knelt before her and pushed the sleeve of her dress up, getting a better look at some of the uglier bruises on her forearm. "No, to win, we must plan, steal, and sneak. To break Valentine's grip, we must first slip through his grasp."

Isabelle watched as Magnus brushed his fingers over her bruises, and prepared a strange, warm, peppermint-smelling liquid in a bowl. The contents of the bowl swirled and bubbled, a thin line of steam snaking up into the air. She'd never heard of healing like this; on her family's farm, the best thing for bruises, broken bones, cuts, anything had been a warm cloth, a gentle massage, and a day from hard work. Max, who was perched beside Isabelle, had the same curious look on his face.

"What's the point in slipping through his grasp if there's nothing to slip away to?" Isabelle wondered aloud when Magnus submerged a cloth in the water.

He gave her a penetrating look. "Don't worry about where to run to, you won't be running away."

For some reason, what Magnus had said made Isabelle's stomach turn. She knew it had been pointless to hope, but part of her thought that she was about to swept away into a shadowy world of espionage and revolution, and that in the near future, she might be leaving this place a free woman. However, Magnus's words had brought her back to her senses, and she was reminded forcefully that she was just a girl, a slave girl, who had been farmer's daughter before.

"Of course" Isabelle murmured, and watched as Magnus wrung out the cloth and draped the warm towel against her arm. "What are you doing with that?"

"Healing your arm," he said shortly. "You have a broken bone and if it's not taken care of it, it will heal in that place, and you will be deformed."

"Yes, but how will a towel accomplish that?" she pressed.

Magnus laid his hands against the cloth and she felt the pressure of his hands on her forearm. Isabelle thought that heat was radiating from Magnus's hands and into her arm, but it was hard to tell given the heat of the cloth. Magnus removed the towel and dipped it once more into the water, and then wrapped it about Isabelle's arm. He waved her aside and drew Max over.

"And you, are you hurt, boy?" he asked, his eyes searching over Max.

"No," Max said stoutly. "I'm fine. Isabelle protected me."

"Ah," Magnus hummed, glancing to Isabelle for conformation. "Then I suppose you just need something to eat, no?" From somewhere none of the children saw, Magnus produced a plate with bread. Max stared at him in awe.

"Are you a wizard?"

Magnus stood. "I'm a doctor, that's all, and if you'll excuse me, I believe I have company knocking." As if on cue, the sound of a hand pounding urgently on the door sounded through the room. Magnus smiled to himself as he glided over to the door and opened it with a bow. "Princess, I'm so glad you could join me."

"You leave me little choice, Magnus, when you sent your servant girl rushing up to me with an urgent plea to come." Clary swished into the room, checked on the sight of Isabelle, Alec, and Max, then turned to face Magnus gravely. "I feel as if I've just walked into quite a long tale, no?"

Magnus nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so, Princess. Quite long, indeed."

"Hold him still, Jonathan, I'd like to see his face."

Jace felt someone drag his arms behind him, and he squirmed in response, trying to break free of the grasp. If his struggles were any detriment to Jonathan, it didn't show, because Jonathan managed to kicked Jace' legs out from under him, capture both his wrists in one hand, and use his free hand to lift Jace's face to the King. He gasped when Jonathan twisted his hand in Jace's hair, tearing at the roots.

"Now that's better," the King murmured. "You're such a handsome boy, Jace, you shouldn't hide your face so. I'm sure you were the apple of your mother's eye, no?"

Jace grit his teeth at the mention of his mother. The King had no right to speak of her, not after he had ordered her death.

"He doesn't like to speak, Father," Jonathan said with a sneer. "I suspect he's almost incapable of stringing words together."

The King leaned back against the hearth and surveyed Jace curiously. "Actually, Jonathan, I think the boy is quite the articulate little runt. Yes, I think little Jace is hiding something behind his handsome face." The King detached himself from the wall and stood before Jace. "You shouldn't disguise you talents, boy, it's rather embarrassing. People might begin to suspect you really _are _an ignorant, inarticulate, uneducated bastard. But you're no bastard, are you?" Again, Jace tried to ignore Valentine, but he knelt down and placed his calm, blank face before Jace's. "Or was your mother a whore?"

"Stop it," Jace hissed. "Stop talking about my mother."

"Why?" he asked, reaching forward and taking Jace's chin in his iron grasp. "Does it hurt that I speak the truth? Is that what angers you the most? Because you know, deep down, that what I'm saying is the truth?"

Jace jerked back, furious. "You know _nothing_ about my mother."

The sudden rush of anger was enough for Valentine, and when he laughed in Jace's face, Jace realized the mistake he'd made. He'd risen to Valentine's taunts, and now the man seemed very pleased, and Jace was concerned. Valentine circled about Jace, devouring his appearance, the fall of his hair, the cut of his cheek bones, the pout of his lips, the gold in his eyes, and the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

"To the contrary, I know _everything_ about your mother. Celine was such a beautiful woman, so generous, so selfless, and so very stupid." Valentine saw Jace's eyes widen just a little, and knew he had been right. "She did everything she was told, by her mother, by her father, by her _King_. She married your father because I told her to, even though he didn't want her as is wife, even though she wasn't worthy of a Dukedom, even though he was half in love with another woman."

Jace gave himself a little shake. _He's lying, the man is lying. He doesn't know what he's talking about. How could the King know _anything_ about your parents? He's just trying to get a rise out of you_.

"Yes, your father loved another woman, a woman who would have made a _good _duchess. That woman was intelligent, educated like a proper woman ought to be, not that dim-witted, wide-eyed wench you called your mother. But that was the problem, you see, I didn't want the second most powerful man in the country married to a woman who would see right through me. I didn't want my biggest rival to be married to a woman who saw me for what I was, so I arranged your father to meet Celine, and he was taken with her wiles." Valentine laughed. "Celine believed every word I ever said, even up until the day I had her throat slit.

"But like I said, your mother was a stupid woman."

"Shut up! Just _shut up_!" Jace thrashed against Jonathan's grip, but Jonathan twisted his arm into an awkward angle and Jace gasped in pain.

"I am glad," Valentine said softly, "that you at least admit she was your mother. Though, were I you, I might not admit that I was born a bastard. That is what you are, you know. Your mother and father may have been married, but your father didn't want your mother, and you were the unwanted child of a loveless marriage.

"Still, it will make it easier for us to continue our conversation now that you have admitted to your lineage, Jace Herondale. Or, should I say, _Duke _Herondale, now that your father is dead? It certainly rolls off the tongue. Duke Herondale…"

Jonathan, who had been curious himself the entire time as to who the boy was, felt his mouth go dry. The Duke's son? He had known the Duke's son once, or at least, known of him. A small seed of anger unfurled in his belly. Just as the Duke Herondale before had been his father's biggest rival, so Jace was his.

"I must admit, though, I was surprised when I first learned of your continued existence. I had thought you might have been butchered with the rest, but then my dear daughter told me about her new slave, a boy with gold hair, gold skin, and gold eyes. So few and far between share those traits, but like I said, your mother was a beautiful woman."

Jace, who was hanging limply in Jonathan's arms now, was trying quickly to put everything together. So, the King knew who he was, and if he knew that, then he must have known _what _he was. The terror Jace had been suppressing was fighting back, slowly climbing up his throat. He couldn't speak, and if he couldn't speak, he couldn't lie.

"I suppose it was your mother's idea, yes, to hide you?" Valentine came to a stop before Jace and stared down at him. "She was the one who suggested you hide your heritage, didn't she? She told you to go out to the stable and pretend to be one of the staff. Your mother always loved you too much, since the day you were born you were her little angel. Celine thought the sun rose and set on you, that the world revolved around you, and who could blame her? Your father never loved her, so she had to show someone her sobbing, pathetic heart.

"It's why she never wanted you at court, either. Jocelyn and I both invited your family, but your mother, that insipid little country bumpkin, thought the safest place for you was out in the manor houses and fields of the dukedom. She thought the court a place of corruption and intrigue, though why she worried over the fate of her _son _I'll never know. Back then, the trade was merely women…"

Jace could still remember it too, his mother, begging his father not to send him to court. She had pleaded again and again that it wasn't the place for a boy his age. That he should grow up in the territory that would one day be his. That the most important thing for him to learn was the land and the people on it, not the ways of the knights at court. For his part, Jace had agreed with his mother. He liked riding his horses down the dirt roads and cobbled streets. He loved the sloping hills and sinking valleys of his land. When Jace's father had come to him asking for his decision, Jace had immediately said he'd rather stay.

"Regardless, now, you're here, and that raises the question as to what I must now do with you," Valentine said, turning away and picking up a crystal decanter of rum. "I think we _both _know why this is such a difficult conundrum, don't we Jace?"

When Jace didn't respond, Jonathan kneed him in the middle of his back and tugged his head back with his hair. The muscles in his back strained and he thought they might tear if he wasn't careful. "Answer when the King speaks to you."

"If I'm the rightful heir to the dukedom, then I'm a direct descendent of the shadowhunters, like all other nobles. You eradicated the last ruling class of nobles to rid yourself of the shadowhunters." Jace finally lifted his eyes to Valentine. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Such a smart boy," murmured Valentine. "What to do with such a smart boy?"

"A suggestion, Father," Jonathan murmured, and Jace felt the other boy's fingers tighten around his throat.

"No," Valentine said, and Jace was surprised by the iron in his voice. "I know you would have me kill the boy, but I think we could find something useful for Jace, yes?"

"I don't," Jonathan said angrily. "We're better off with him dead than running around under foot."

"I know what you would have," Valentine said again, and this time, he cast a penetrating look at Jace. "But I think the boy has some value. It's just deciding where best to place him." Jace, kneeling at his feet, found it slightly ironic that the King was so perplexed with him, and smirked. Valentine saw the look on his face and his lips quirked up. "Don't get too excited, my boy. Whatever I decide to do with you, I guarantee it will be not to your liking.

"I could leave you a slave," Valentine mused. "It's a disgrace enough that a _right and honorable_ duke be reduced to a serving whelp. I'm sure my son, Jonathan, will be most pleased with that outcome. Do you like your current status, boy? Does it suit your needs?"

"Well," and here, Jace couldn't help himself, "I've certainly spent much more time with the lovely ladies of the court than before."

Valentine's hand snapped across his face casually, but Jace felt tears prick at his eyes, and he struggled to quickly blink them away. "Indeed you do spend time with certain ladies, and do you enjoy that time?"

Here, Jace blinked in confusion. He didn't understand what Valentine was getting at. "There is a certain charm."

"How about this," Valentine said, and he took a long swig of his rum. "I could reinstate your position, I could make you a duke, and I could renew your betrothal. It would be a trade off, of course, since I would require something from you"-

"Father!" Jonathan said in outrage.

"Silence, Jonathan." Valentine's eyes were cold and hard when he looked at his son. "If I want your input, I will most certainly ask. Now, boy, what say you? Would you like to be a duke?"

Jace could feel his jaw hanging open, but he couldn't seem to close it. Too many thoughts were working through his mind, and he didn't seem to have the time to comprehend any of them. He swallowed loudly. "Why would you reinstate my position? I'm a shadowhunter, and I thought only the royal family would claim that title."

"Only the royal family _does_," Valentine pressed. "Don't play coy with me, boy. You and I both know your mother and my Jocelyn were good friends, and while you were still in the cradle, Jocelyn and I agreed to betrothal between you and my daughter."

Jace has known about that, true, and he had spent most of his life trying to ignore it. His mother had told him when he was twelve he was betrothed to the princess, and that when he turned eighteen, he would go to wed the young lady. Jace had thought that the Princess would be a snob, a spoiled brat, and he had wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life away from her.

_Shows what you know, doesn't it?_ he thought to himself. "Why would you do that?"

"I, too, would like to know, Father?" Jonathan asked, poorly masking his outrage.

"The blood of the Angel is a royal trait now, belonging only to members of the royal family. Unfortunately, I can't condone marrying brother to sister to keep the line pure. I suppose it's lucky chance that young Jace survived long enough to make it here."

Jonathan felt the urge to shake the life from Jace in that moment. He wanted nothing so much but to dig his fingers into the boy's throat and squeeze until the life left his eyes. His fingers dug into Jace' hair, and Jace thought he might tear the hair out of his scalp if he wasn't careful.

"Why would I agree to something like that?" Jace asked carefully.

"You know," Valentine said softly, "I like that, answering questions with questions. Very much the attitude of a monarch. I'll tell you why, because if you don't agree to it, I'll have you killed. Jonathan is right there, I can't have you running around under foot. I need you in my eye at all times."

"Why would I say no?" this time, Jace knew he had hit true. Valentine set his lips thoughtfully, and Jace wondered what was going through his mind.

"Your mother babied you," Valentine said slowly. "She coddled you. Made your life a never-ending summer day. I don't raise my children like that, I don't _believe_ in raising my children like that. If you join this family, you will have to be re-educated to my standards. It will be a long, arduous, _painful _experience. It takes more to be a Morgenstern than a marriage to my daughter."

"I do appreciate the honesty," Jace muttered, trying to think fast. No matter what he thought, no matter how he reconsidered, there seemed to be no way out. He could say no, and then Jonathan would choke the life out of him. Or, he could say yes, marry Clary, and spend the rest of his life being clouted by Valentine. "You're not leaving me with many options."

"No," agreed Valentine, "I'm not. I like to see things done, and I'd like this done today. Now, give me your answer."

Jace shrugged, "I suppose I'll have to say yes."

A jolt of pain raced down his spine when Jonathan's finger nails dug into his skin. It seemed to be all he could do to stop the shaking that was wracking his body. Jace tried to lean forward, but Jonathan jerked him back. He wasn't going to let Jace go without some firm repercussions.

Valentine, however didn't see, or, more likely, chose not to. "Well, this is excellent, isn't it? I shall draft the papers now to have you reinstated and the Lewis family removed from your lands. However, I won't have you running off there anytime soon."

"Well, it is my home," Jace said stubbornly. "Maybe I'd like to visit, perhaps I'd like to take my betrothed to visit her lands."

Valentine laughed. "That's precisely _why _you're not going back there. You will stay here and appoint another to sit in your stead at Herondale Manor. Regardless of what your mother believed, a Lord's place is at court. Besides, I won't have my daughter running off to the country and becoming a bumbkin like your mother. She's a princess."

"She'll be a duchess soon," Jace snapped back, "and my wife. I can send my wife wherever I choose."

"Perhaps," Valentine murmured, "but _you_ certainly can't leave court. I could be quite a furious in-law were I to wake up one morning and find my daughter gone."

"I might find myself risking it anyway," Jace returned stoutly.

"Risk away-"

Valentine was cut off by the sound of furious knocking on the door. He paused, looking just slightly surprised, and then smiled very slowly at Jonathan. He placed the glass of rum down slowly and brushed off the front of his doublet.

"Now who could that be knocking on my door?" he asked the air. "I'll go see to it myself. Jonathan, perhaps now is a good time to introduce the young Duke to our family traditions. Please," Valentine said, turning away and making for the door, "no mutilation and no dismemberment."


	12. Introductions Again

Introductions Again

No sooner had the door closed behind Valentine than Jace felt himself thrown forward rather harshly. He broke his fall just in time, but Jonathan's foot came quickly, knocking him sideways. Jace rolled sideways, holding his sides and ducking his head, and when he stopped rolling, he remained that way, waiting for the next blow to fall.

"Oh, stop it," Jonathan said from across the room. He was seated comfortably at the table, mixing something in a glass. There were some colored decanters across from him, and when Jace looked, he could not identify the liquids inside. He glared at Jonathan. "You're such a dramatist. You act like I'm going to lunge at you and beat you senseless." His laughter that followed didn't sooth Jace's nerves.

"Well, I can't say you've given me any other impression of yourself." Jace stood carefully, waiting for Jonathan to strike at him again, but Jonathan continued to stir his drink.

"Oh you'll come to have quite the impression of me, I guarantee it." Jonathan finally looked him over and he curled his lip.

_This _boy _is the one who is going to marry my sister? He's going to be honored as a prince, almost my equal. He'll sit at the high table with me…_Jonathan felt his jaw work angrily as he ground his teeth. He gave the glass cup a last shake. _No, not this brat. I won't have some slave boy peacocking around like he's the next king. If he's going to play in this court, I'll have to teach him the rules. _

"Come, Jace, sit down. Have a drink with me; we are, after all, going to be brothers." Jonathan stood up and graciously drew out a chair for Jace.

"Thanks, but no," Jace said, drawing himself up and inching for the door. He didn't want to spend any more time than he had to with Jonathan. "I think I should go speak with your father about-"

Jonathan moved much faster than Jace could even begin to comprehend. One moment, the man was across the table, holding out a chair, and the next, he had one hand on Jace's neck, the other in his hair. Jace protested, but Jonathan dragged him backward to the table, and tossed him at it.

"If you're going to play the Duke, you're going to have to learn how to behave like one. When your crown prince invites you for a drink, you don't decline," Jonathan said, slamming the glass down before him. "You think you can just swagger into court, a Duke by right, and do as you please? You can't, and even you should know better. There are rules to this game."

Jace looked up from the table at the glass before him. "What is that?" he asked, ignoring Jonathan's rant.

"You tell me," Jonathan said, and then forced the glass to Jace's lips. He jerked away, trying to break Jonathan's grip in him, but he couldn't and his struggles against the glass were quickly quashed when Jonathan's fist made contact with his side and the sound of snapping rib bent him over. "How does it taste?"

_Like shit_, Jace thought as the liquid burned down his throat. It was something horrible and sharp that burned as it went down, sizzling in his stomach where it settled. It took a moment before Jace felt his stomach turn painfully.

"What is this-"

Jace's question was cut off when he doubled over and vomited. The shock more than anything frightened Jace, and his immediate thought was to calm his stomach. He spit up the last of his vomit and clutched his belly, taking deep slow breaths. Just when he thought he might have overcome the worst of his sickness, Jonathan's hand was around his throat again and forcing another glass of the sour liquid down his throat.

"Stop!" Jace demanded as soon as he could push Jonathan's hand away. "What is that?"

But no sooner had he spoken then Jace felt that horrible feeling in his stomach and he bent over again, throwing up. This time, though, as there was no more food in his stomach, stomach acid and blood came up. He saw the blood swirled in his vomit and panicked, struggling away from the sick on the floor, clutching his throat.

"Would you like another shot, brother?" Jonathan asked from the table, waving a small glass at him. "Can't you hold your drink?"

Jace's chest was rising frantically up and down, his stomach still churning angrily, and he ignored Jonathan's taunt, more interested in finding some sort of weapon. The room was rather bare, at least where weapons were concerned, and Jace realized that Jonathan must have known this. He grit his teeth furiously.

"I prefer whiskey to whatever that foul concoction is," Jace finally answered. "I am surprised that the prince has such poor taste in his drinks."

Jonathan smiled crookedly at him. "I think you'll find it's just you, brother, who can't hold his own." And to make his point, Jonathan poured the mixture again and tossed it back with ease. He leaned casually against the table. "I think it's just you."

Jace looked him over. "What is that?"

"I'm so glad you've asked, brother," Jonathan said, bounding over to where Jace was on the floor and dragging him to his feet. "It is quite the interesting recipe, one of my own making. In the usual individual, it results in death, in a shadowhunter, severe illness, and-"

"And you?" Jace demanded, trying to shake himself free. "What are you?"

"I'll leave you to mull that one over." Jonathan sat Jace down in one of the chairs. "My dear sister has her mutt, and so do I. Actually, I have three. Three rather exceptional hunting dogs. They can smell out anything, deer, quail, flesh…blood. And, what I do is cut them and drain a little of their blood. I mix it in with the normal drink, say whiskey, and give it to someone. As you can imagine, most people die."

"What are they?" Jace asked, wondering now if he'd been poisoned. "Your dogs?"

Jonathan whistled. "Come out, boys," he called to the empty room. "Come out and play. Come and meet the newest member of the family."

There was the slightest tingling in the air, like electricity, and the hair on the back of Jace's neck and arms stood on end. He felt a rush of cold and the churning in his stomach doubled painfully, and a low growl that sounded behind him sent a spike of panic up his spine. He twisted to see what it was.

Out prowled three vicious dogs. They were nothing like Clary's Luke, who was just as large and vicious, but clearly loyal. Jonathan's dogs were huge, with black shaggy fur, razor points for teeth, and long pointed snouts. When he looked at their eyes, they were black holes with nothing in them. He felt sick just looking at them.

"Don't like my dogs?" Jonathan asked. "Make you feel…sick? I understand, little brother, what's wrong. It's in your nature, you know, to feel that way. You can't help how you were born." Jonathan laughed and called the dogs over to Jace's feet. They sniffed the air around him, and the one in the middle pulled back its lips and snarled. "Oh, they don't like you. Not one bit. Do you know why?"

Jace didn't move a muscle when he said, "No."

"Take a closer look," Jonathan laughed, and hit him upside the head.

When Jace opened his eyes his vision was slightly skewed, and he thought, as he looked at the dogs, that they were all one. He gave himself a good shake and when he opened his eyes again, he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.

They _were _one dog. Not three separate, vicious dogs; one dog with three vicious heads. Their eyes weren't black, empty orbs, they were _empty. _The thing was clearly blind, and out of its sockets leaked a foul yellow-white liquid. Where is splashed on the floor, the stone sizzled and smoked, and when the dog opened its mouths, dozens of tentacles rolled out, snapping at the air and reaching for Jace. In a sick display, the dog mouths smiled, tentacles roiling.

"You know what this is, don't you?" Jonathan asked softly. "It might surprise you to learn we keep a few of these lovely beasts about the castle, mostly in the cellar down in the basement, in case there is ever a revolt. Twenty of these beasts, and you could decimate a city the size of the capital."

Jace was so close to the demon he was shaking; he couldn't help it. He was a shadowhunter, they killed demons, not played with them. Every synapse was screaming at him to find a weapon and kill it, to get away from it, to run to light, but he couldn't. Jonathan's grip on him was firm, and the demon wasn't moving.

"Feeling sick?" Jonathan asked. "Want to go for a nice walk in the garden? Maybe take the day out in the sun?"

Jace finally jerked to life. "Call it off."

"I can't," Jonathan said, feigning sadness. "You see, it needs to know not to kill you. You're a shadowhunter, and it's in the nature of a demon to single you out first. It needs to get your scent, get a _taste _for you."

"Don't-"

Jonathan pushed Jace forward into the demon. He curled into a ball, covering any weak spots he could, and waited for the demon to strike. It might have been the most sickening moment of his life, the feeling of the many tentacles licking over his body, curling around his limbs. When a stray tentacle wriggled about in his hair and skimmed over his ear, Jace jerked away.

Jonathan watched the whole thing, smirking the whole time. He took a little pleasure in the scene before him, the helplessness of the boy on the floor. He hated Jace, it was that simple. Jace was going to take everything from him. He was the prince, the only royal heir the throne, and in one fell swoop, Jace had changed that. Now, if something were to happen, Jace could take the throne. If the people liked him more, they could revolt. He was taking everything that was his…he was taking Clary.

"Get out of here!" Jonathan snarled at the demon, and he fell back, sensing the anger in his voice. "Move!"

No sooner had the dog moved than Jonathan attacked. Before he knew what he was doing, Jonathan was kicking out at Jace, taking every pleasure he could in the sound of breaking bones. Jace tried to squirm away the minute we realized the demon had been called off, but Jonathan followed him, furiously lashing out.

"Worthless, little, whelp!" he snarled. "God knows why my father wanted to spare your life, but I can promise you that you'll live to regret having been spared. I'll see you to your death, I swear it. When I've finished with you, you'll-"

The doors opening cut off Jonathan's threats and Jace's pained gasps. They both turned simultaneously to see who had intruded, and were surprised to see Clary, her face pale as snow, and her eyes wide and glinting. He saw Jonathan's face contorted in fury and Jace's, blood and vomit dribbling down his mouth and an ugly bruise already forming on his cheek. Behind Clary, Valentine made himself known by clearing his throat, which might have been the laughter caught there.

"Well, Clarissa, meet your future husband, The Duke Herondale."

* * *

><p>It seemed, even two hours later, that the truth had not yet registered for Clary. She sat in a hard-backed chair in her father's antechamber, staring at him as if he were some strange man. She had known for so long now that he had been lying, had been hiding what he knew, but to keep his knowledge of her betrothed from her? She watched her father across from her, speaking more to himself and to Jace, than to her, scribbling letters here and there, ruining lives and raising others up.<p>

_How can you be that surprised? Your father has never given you a second thought, and most certainly never considered you worthy of the truth. _

Slowly, Clary reached out and curled her fingers around the stem of a glass of wine. She clutched it until her knuckles turned white, and wondered if she could snap the thin stem in half if she just squeezed a little tighter. Suddenly, a gentle pressure on her foot drew her attention up. Staring at her, eyes full of concern, was Jace. She watched his eyes drop to her fingers then rise back up to her face. Carefully, Clary gave him an empty smile.

_Who are you? _Clary wondered, looking at this young man so recently made a lord. _Did you know who I was when you first met me? _

He must have, Clary decided. Clearly, Jace's parents had told him who he was to be marrying, and, unlike her father, had probably prepared him for meeting his betrothed. She wondered how Jace had thought of her while he was growing up. Clary knew Jace's personality well enough even then to know he was no fan of torrid romances, but had he at least thought of her fondly? Had he even thought of her to begin with?

_Probably not. He must have known the moment you introduced yourself who you were. He didn't seem so taken with you then. _It was a bitter thought, but an inevitable one.

"So, now that I've drafted the paperwork to have you reinstated to your dukedom, perhaps we might have a few questions that need answers?" Valentine sounded the perfect, pleasantly surprised father. "Clarissa, you must be surprised."

"Indeed, Father," Clary said coldly. Then turned to glare at Jace. "Surprised, indeed, since you told me my betrothed had been killed long ago. Yet here he is, having strolled into my private rooms enough times to perhaps have shared his name with me."

Affronted, Jace narrowed his eyes, but didn't dare snap back. His jaw was still too sore and his lips cracked. "My life was at risk. I was safer as an anon. I trust you'll forgive me my masquerade, since even you can appreciate a life. And besides, what a quaint story to tell your ladies in waiting."

"I have no time for my ladies," Clary scoffed.

"You will now," Valentine said decidedly. "No betrothed woman, no matter her position in the court, belongs running about wild driving her intended half mad with fear. You're not to stray from the court anymore-"

"Father!"

"_Clarissa_!" Valentine's voice was hard, but it was his eyes that warned Clary. She had woken her father's anger before and was not interested in doing so again. "It's time you started acting like what you are."

"What I am?" Clary snapped, she rolled up the sleeve of her dress, the faint white scares on her inner arm just beginning to show. "How can you expect me to suffer the company of those airheaded ladies when I am-"

"A duchess," Jace finished, his hand snapping across the table and pulling her sleeve down. "It's a just question. Clary-may I call you that?- should keep better company than the wives and daughters of lowly lords. To the best of my knowledge, there are only three dukedoms in Idris, and mine certainly the most established. You ought to invite the daughters of those dukes to court."

"What a fine suggestion," Valentine said, trying to read Jace's intentions in his face. "They would arrive just in time to see another beautiful woman join their ranks."

The implication was plane in Valentine's voice. "So," Clary said loudly. "I'm to be married off soon, I see?"

"Were you not asking me just a few days ago when I would have you married off?" Valentine asked pleasantly. "Well, by the end of this month, you could be happily wedded."

"You seem fond of this arrangement?" Clary noted sourly.

Now Valentine's anger turned outward and Clary wished she'd stayed quiet. "I will _not _see the line of Angel die off. For a while now, it had been just you and your brother, and I had no option but to see you two married off. Now, we've had the lucky chance of another descendent of the blood, and one of such high title, and you dare deny the chance we have. Do you realize what this means? Unless another shadowhunter, a _female, _can be found, Jonathan will never give an heir to the throne. Your children will be the heirs to the throne. It is you who will give me a prince and princess."

"You've gone mad," Clary whispered, feeling like the world was being torn out from beneath her.

"Contrary to your belief, I'm quite right-minded. This is a day to celebrate, for you at least."

"So, tell me, how does Jonathan take to being the _steward _to the king?" Clary sneered.

"Steward?" Valentine asked.

"Well, you'll make him king, of course, but he's just keeping the seat warm while my son grows, no? If I were Jonathan, I would be rather angry, wouldn't you?"

"Jonathan is well aware of what this marriage means. We will, however, continue to seek him out a wife." Valentine didn't seem too hopeful of this. "This is irreverent, Clarissa. It doesn't change anything, least of all, for you. This betrothal was decided on when you were born, and I won't have you breaking my oath because you don't want to settle down and serve your country."

Clary seemed ready to argue again, but Jace spoke over her. "I'm sure she recognizes this, and I'm sure all she needs is some time to recuperate and overcome the shock of her surprise. I think it might be best if Clary retires early."

"So concerned for her, are you?" Valentine asked sarcastically.

"Well," Jace shrugged, "she is my future wife. I like to think I'll take good care of her."

Valentine nodded, seemingly indifferent. "A sound idea, but before you leave, I must impress upon both of you a few concerns of mine."

"And what might those be?" Clary asked as she stood.

"I won't have the two of you running underfoot in my castle." Valentine stood, his eyes on Jace. "If you live here, you obey the laws of this land, my laws. I won't have this court upset by some upstart Duke and his wife. I won't have my family name tarnished by your filth. I will enforce punishment, and, since you're family, it will be to the fullest extent of my power. I do believe Clarissa would know about that, yes?"

Jace saw Clary's face pale and her eyes widen. He had every urge to rush Clary out of the room and away from her father. "I'll make sure Jace understands."

"I would hope so," Valentine nodded. "It would be so unfortunate if I had to punish young Jace. I would have to think of something especially terrible for a traitor shadowhunter like him, wouldn't I? Which reminds me, come here, Jace, and give me your arm."

"For what?" Jace asked, but Clary nudged him before Valentine's anger flared up again. Jace stalked forward and carefully rolled back the sleeves on his left arm. Valentine snatched it up and jerked him forward. As soon as he pulled out a small blade, Jace panicked saying, "What are you doing?"

Valentine carefully traced one of the veins on his arm, toying with the idea of slicing across the vein. He saw the look of careful control on Jace's face and wondered the extent of his training. He was good at holding back fear, but Valentine was curious as to how far he could push it. He angled the tip at Jace's wrist and began to mark him. "I'm marking you with a very special blade, a blade that leaves permanent Marks. You know the language of the Angel?"

"Of course," Jace dismissed. "I wouldn't be much of shadowhunter if I didn't."

"Then can you tell me what this mark means?"

Jace stared at his wrist, shuddering a little at the sight of the mark. He felt a weight pulling him downward, a sudden pressure that bent his back and head. It felt as if chains had snaked up and curled about his wrists and ankles. It was the feeling of binding, of enslavement, of the loss of freedom.

"You're binding me to you," Jace spit out, tugging his wrist away and unconsciously rubbing the mark. "You really know how to make a man feel welcome, don't you?"

Valentine merely smiled. "It's nothing too serious, my boy. I've not made you a slave; you are not bound to my will. It's just a nice _reminder_ that you serve me now."

"So," said Jace, "you'll take the collar off my neck, but tie a ball and chain about my wrists?"

"I'm glad you reminded me," Valentine said briskly, drawing the blade again, the tip glowing. He moved swiftly, swiping the end at Jace's throat before he could even think to panic. The sound of the clattering metal collar bouncing on the floor echoed through the room. "_Now_ you're a Duke."

"Excellent," Jace muttered rubbing his neck where the collar had been. He had to admit, it felt good not to have that thing on him anymore. "I do hope you have a place for me to stay?"

"I think Jonathan has seen to your placement and has called for a tailor or two to see to your wardrobe. I'll ask you to be discreet about your return to court until I announce your arrival."

"And when will that be?"

"As soon as Lewis can get his family off your land and make their way here to brief you on the state of your lands. It should be no later than next week. By that time, I'll have the bride price figured as well." Valentine purposefully looked to Clary at that, who rolled her eyes.

Jace saw her, but pretended not to. "I'm sure I'll look forward to seeing exactly what the King offers me for making him a prince descent from the Angel."

Valentine's smile faltered ever so slightly in annoyance. "I'm sure it won't disappoint. Now, why don't you make your way to your rooms and stay there. I'm sure my daughter will do the honors of escorting you. He will be housed in his family's quarters." Valentine waved them away, turning back to his table and paperwork. Jace seemed to want to say more, maybe another smart remark, but Clary's hand shot out and tugged his away. Quietly, they left, Clary leading the way as fast as she could.

"Why so fast, Princess?" Jace asked, watching her frown as he used her title.

"You and I have something to discuss, Duke Herondale," she returned with equal verve. Clary led Jace swiftly into the east wing of the castle where only the highest lords made their homes. Even Jace couldn't stop himself from gawking at the lavish displays: the posh rugs, the colorful wall hangings, the gilt candle brackets, the bright windows, their panes made of stained glass. It had been such a long time since Jace had walked the halls of a palace unafraid and unconcerned.

Clary brought him to a large set of doors at the end of the hall. They seemed blank and empty, and, for Jace, imposing. He'd spent his entire life growing up in the country, aware of who he was, but perfectly content to leave it at awareness. He'd never thought he'd be wandering the hall's of the King's palace, facing his family's destiny, and especially never thought he'd face it alone. Clary turned the knob and ushered him in quickly.

Jace took a single turn around his new rooms. The ceiling was vaulted, the arches inlaid with beautiful designs of flowers and herons. The floors were hard stone, but almost completely covered in thick rugs. The furniture looked warn and old, but comfortable, the color of wine. He thought his mother had chosen it. The walls were lined with books, none that seemed that interesting to Jace-history and law books-he decided he'd have to change that. But that just reminded him that his books had probably been torn apart when the manor had been raided. The hearth was empty and cold, and that seemed the best place to start.

"I'll need someone to come stoke the fire for me. Max would be good at that, don't you think?" Jace asked Clary carelessly. "I think I'll see what the going rate for a kitchen boy is. Not, that I don't already know."

Clary wasn't going to play games, though. "Stop being a fool, Jace. As soon as you're introduced to the court you can have whatever you want, your family was the second wealthiest in the land."

"You forget, I'm marrying into the wealthiest," Jace shot back. "I suppose that means I could afford _two _kitchen hands. Maybe three, should my wife want to call back a certain maid."

"Isabelle is better off where she is," Clary returned, not willing to bring another innocent into this life.

"Well, I think otherwise," Jace said as if he were mentioning the weather.

"You can't protect them, Jace," Clary murmured softly. "You heard my father. He's not going to have us playing games. You're here to keep me in line, and I for you. If you test his patience he'll hurt you. Or them."

Jace turned and gave her a strange look. One she recognized as cunning. "You forget, little Clary, I've got a manor house that needs staffing. If I see it fit, I'll send the lot to Herondale Manor as servants, not _slaves_. I get the feeling the Lewis family has got a bunch of bunglers manning my lands."

"The Lewis family is a good one. I've known their son since I was a little girl. His name was Simon," Clary said thoughtfully. "He and I got on well."

"Glad to hear you get on so well with other men," Jace smirked. "They can be as good a family as they want, they're still on my land, using my things, and I can't say I like the thought of my future wife being on such good terms with their son."

"You are ridiculous," Clary announced. "Simon and I have been friends, and that's all. Besides, I don't particularly like my future husband sneaking into my rooms, and my confidence, without announcing himself."

"Still on that, are you?" Jace asked tiredly. "Listen, if I'd told the truth of who I was, I would have been killed. Your brother was sent to kill me and my family, and, trust me, he's still looking for the chance."

"I know," said Clary, giving him a sad look. "Jonathan never thought my father was going to find me a husband."

"Then who were you going to marry?"

"Who do you think?" Clary turned away bitterly. "Ever since my mother died and my father told me my betrothed was dead, that's been my future. I'd be queen alright, but some horrible monstrosity of one. A queen in my own right, married to my brother. It was a foul thought."

"Then I must be quite a pleasant surprise for you," Jace mused.

"Well, I won't say I'm not pleased to see you," admitted Clary. "It certainly changes my prospects, and it could make the time I spend in court a little more bearable."

"Oh, I'll make them the best of your life," promised Jace, smiling to himself.

"Jace," Clary said finally, looking him up and down. "It's too bad that my father lied, I'm sure we could have liked each other once, but I don't think I'll like anyone ever again."

"I'm glad to hear it." Jace walked over to her, closing the door with a snap behind her. "I don't want my wife to _like _me. If we're married, we're going to be more than friends. I want you to _love _me."

Clary rolled her eyes expressively. "I won't do that either. Like I said, perhaps once, but it's been too long, I've had too long to. I don't even know you."

Jace pulled a startled Clary into him. "Then get to know me," he said, and kissed her.


	13. A Rose

A Rose

When Clary arrived at court early in the morning, a week later, it was evident that news of the Duke Jace Herondale had finally been released, and was even then making the rounds through the court. There was not a word whispered or a glace cast that wasn't laden with the thought of Jace. Men wondered where this boy had come from, where he would stand in court, and how he would change where they stood in court. The men heard he was intelligent, educated, a well-rounded politician. The women heard he was handsome, the most handsome man in the kingdom. That he looked like the son of god, all made of gold. They heard he was an excellent dancer, a poet, a charming man, who, despite his position and looks, was always the gentlemen. But what both men and women heard, was that he was second richest man in the kingdom, with the largest of all Dukedoms, with a yearly salary that put them all to shame.

As soon as Clary entered the room a small gaggle of the more pronounced ladies made a seat for her and motioned her over. Clary wanted to snub them, but she couldn't forget her father's orders, and the blade he held so perfectly over Jace's head. She smiled brightly and joined them in a window foyer.

"My lady," said one of the girls, excitement in her voice, "Have you heard? Have you heard about the new duke come to court?"

Clary seemed unruffled. "Yes, the Duke Herondale. I've seen his rooms have been recently renovated."

"Have you heard _about_ him though?" pressed another girl. Her eyes searched Clary's face for a sign of recognition. "You being privy to all that goes on in the castle."

"I don't make a habit of gossip and stories," Clary said swiftly. "I've simply heard that the Duke returns from anon and will be residing in the court while a steward is assigned his lands. Why, what have you heard?"

"That he is the most handsome man in the kingdom!" said a younger, less experienced girl. She was the daughter of some Earl and newly come to court. No doubt she had dreams of a courtly romance in his mind. "They say he is as golden as the sun, and just as bright."

"He'd have to be bright to be a politician," returned Clary. "However, with breakfast will come the news you hope for I would think. The Duke must make his appearance soon."

"But you must know something," pressed the young girl. "Why has he come to court?"

"Why not?" responded Clary. "He's a man in his prime, and besides, his place is at court, he is a Duke, after all."

At the mention of the word duke, many of the women seemed flutter to life, their eyes widening and their chests raising as they drew sharp breaths. Clary thought it was all rather ridiculous; it wasn't as though the girls hadn't met men of status in their lifetimes. Of course it didn't make much difference what they thought of Jace. He was her betrothed, her father had all but settled on a bride price, and…he had kissed her.

The memory of the kiss had haunted Clary for a week. She could still remember the brush of his lips against hers, and strange warmth that spread through her limbs, and the mind-numbing rush of joy that followed. Faintly, she could recall the feeling of his hands running across her cheeks and into her hair, tugging at the pins, and the sudden wave of fear that washed over her. She'd torn herself from his arms wishing that she could curl back up in them. She could still remember the look on Jace's face, the raised eyebrow and the satisfied curl of his lip.

"Well, this is certainly going to prove an _interesting _marriage, don't you think, my dear?"

Clary had wanted to snap back something smart, but words had failed her and she'd swept him a curt bow before leaving the room in a flurry of skirts. Since then, she'd been tossing and turning in her sleep, haunted by the memory. She hadn't been allowed to see Jace, to speak with him, even send him a message. Today would be the first time since then that the two would speak, and she had some choice words for him.

"I wouldn't set your sights on the Duke just yet," Clary warned. "You hardly know him. For all his glamour and riches, he could be quite the fop. He does, after all, come from the country where men are soft."

A few of the older women nodded sagely, as if they agreed with the Princess, but Clary knew none of them cared one wit for her words. Any chance that they had at advancing themselves was one they would take, and any chance they had at being the favorite of the new lord at court was one they'd eat up. Every girl wanted to be the favorite of the most handsome man. Every girl wanted the jealously of the others.

_What a bitter end they all face, _thought Clary faintly, before calling her maid to fetch her sewing kit.

For an hour, Clary sat in the window embrasure, sewing shirts for the poor. Her fingers moved with such deftness that the other girls would often peek from the corners of their eyes, unsure how to best her. It was a highly regarded skill, the mending and making of cloth. Every girl in the land was expected to know it well, and the sign of a good wife was a good stitching hand. Clary would smile to herself, knowing what the women were thinking, and knowing how it would be impossible for them to ever compare. She had the reflexes of a shadowhunter, and though they should have been put to good use with knives, if she had to use them somewhere, the court was just as good.

Clary flourished a shirt triumphantly. "What do you think, ladies, a fine shirt?"

Many of the young women cooed in approval, and the matrons of the court nodded respectfully. A bell tolled in the distance and was followed quickly by a horn. Clary knew the sound of the King's return well, and she knew that with the King most certainly came the new duke. This seemed to be common knowledge among the ladies, for they all set about to sit perfectly, their skirts spread out like petals, their corsets tugged ever so slightly down, their hair, falling just so. It must have proved a tantalizing sight.

For her part, Clary straightened her back, but didn't move from the window embrasure, and didn't cease her sewing. The older women greatly approved of the Princess and hushed the young women and ordered them to their work. Thirty or so women, sitting in comfortable silence, sewing like diligent maids; that was the sight that greeted the men as they entered, loud and hot from a day of riding.

With the exception of Clary, the young women rose and bowed, quickly taking note of the new face, three paces behind the Prince. The Duke Herondale was by far, more handsome than the rumors led on to believe, and more regal than any of the lords. He strolled in, a smile on his face and his gold eyes glowing. When he tossed his hair out of his face, many women sighed, and a few pressed forward, flaunting their dresses, their bodies, hair, anything.

When Valentine spoke, it was to the room. "And here, Herondale, is where we come to find the fine ladies of the court. Often there is music and poetry to be had, and, of course, dazzling conversation."

Jace smirked. "Dazzling indeed," he replied, eyeing a few of the ladies next to him. "But, it seems, the most dazzling is the most diligent, no? Who is the lady who sits alone with her work, not speaking?"

Clary felt a tingle in her spine at the sound of Jace's voice directed at her, but kept her fingers moving. She wouldn't let these women think her weak-hearted for a handsome face. Beside her, an older woman politely nudged her, and Clary looked to her as if woken from a dream. She smiled politely and glanced about, feigning shock at the sight of the men gathered before her, and the burning gaze of the Duke on her face. With the elegance of a queen, Clary placed her sewing aside and rose, sweeping a low bow.

"You'll forgive me, Father, my lords, for I was too busy minding my work to notice your arrival." Clary waved her hand and one of the ladies drew forth the two shirts Clary had completed as evidence. "Shirts for the poor, you see."

"May I?" Jace asked, stepping up and bowing ever so slightly. "A find a lady can be judged by her needle work, no?"

Clary beamed about the room, and a few ladies smiles slipped. "I think that a fine measurement, my lord." When Clary handed Jace the shirts, she looked about at her ladies. "And what do you make of me, my lord?"

With much a gusto, Jace inspected the shirts. He ran his fingers over the cloth, eyeing the straight, miniscule stitches. After a moment, he handed them to her made and bow first to Valentine then took Clary's hand and kissed it ever so softly. "As I said, Princess, _dazzling_."

The women who were watching swallowed back their complaints and forced smiles onto their faces. Some of them hoped that it was just the curtsey of duke upon first arriving in the Court. It was expected of the men in the court be both gracious and complementary to the Queen, in her absence, the Princess. Certainly at dinner that evening he would spread his time equally among the ladies, seeking out the finest bred and most beautiful.

Valentine smiled at the word play. _The boy is certainly no fool to the court. He'll make a fine addition…If he keeps his senses about himself. _Jace, as if sensing Valentine's thoughts, turned a bright eye on him and smirked.

"Well," Valentine pronounced loudly, "shall we have lunch?"

There was a resounding approval and Valentine turned to lead the court out. A few women closest to Jace moved forward carefully, almost offering him their hands. Jace, however, offered his arm to Clary, who smiled shyly and gently laid her fingers on the fine fabric of his sleeve.

The court arrived and slowly drifted to their places at the table. Jace escorted Clary to the high table and held her chair while she sat, and then made his way to his seat beside a very pleased, Lady Cecilia. She immediately stuck up a conversation with him, not wasting time with any coyness. At first they just spoke of the fine weather, the beautiful music, and the pleasantries of poetry, but Lady Cecilia wanted to move quickly.

"I must say, I was very surprised to hear another Lord had come to court. Wherever did you come from?" she asked, laughing slightly as if she'd said something very charming.

Jace wanted to ignore her but knew he was being watched carefully. Instead, he turned to face her and engage in some sort of pleasant conversation. "With the recent upheaval, my family thought it was safer to leave the more densely populated cities for the country. I've spent most of my childhood there."

"But that's amazing!" Cecilia said, her raised voice drawing the attention of many of the ladies. "You must find court the most peculiar place."

"Well, there is certainly much more to do and see," answered Jace, gesturing about him. "So very different from the rolling fields and hills I've grown up in."

"And do you like what you see, my lord?" she asked softly, eyes dropping.

Jace knew what the woman was trying to lead him to, and he hated her for it. Women who plagued him for his riches, lands, or attention had always worn on him quickly. He could give her a taste of her own medicine, and Valentine couldn't complain as long as he was paying Clary the compliments of a potential lover.

"Well," he said softly, "I must admit, there is some potential in this court to make a man lose his senses. Some things, not even the country flowers could possibly compare to."

Lady Cecilia looked up at this, shocked that he would be so forward, but her heart sank when she saw where Jace was looking. His eyes had wandered and were lingering on the Princess, watching how she cut her food, took delicate bites, sipped her wine. When he returned his attention to the woman, her lips were set into a pleasant smile, but her eyes had certainly lost their glow.

"I think some music is called for," Valentine said as he brushed any stray crumbs from his lap. "Clarissa, my dear, perhaps you will play for us."

"For what occasion, Father?" Clary asked at once. "I like my music selections to be meaningful and appropriate."

Valentine pretended to think, and his eyes landed on Jace. "In honor of our newest addition, the Duke Herondale."

Clary rose from her seat and signaled for a maid to fetch her a lyre. "It would be my pleasure, Father."

Jace knew he should be honored, but he couldn't bring himself to appreciate the song that Clary played when all he could think of was her lips on his. True, Clary was a gifted musician, strumming the lyre and raising her voice to match the strings, but he didn't really pay any attention. He could still picture the look on her face when she pulled away: her lips opened slightly and her eyes hazy with desire. He remembered the feel of her hips under her palms, then the trail they worked up to her cheeks and hair. He'd just managed to work the pins in her hair loose when she tugged away. Since then, he'd been thinking over that day, those few minutes.

Clary finished the song to a resounding applause and she stood and bowed. She turned to face Jace who was leaning back, clapping his hands slowly. She bowed again to him, and when she rose, Jace smiled at her, a secretive smile, and she knew he too was thinking of the kiss.

"A beautiful composition," Jace said graciously. "You are a gifted musician, as well. Are you so gifted in all the fine arts?"

"My daughter is well versed in all the arts," Valentine said before Clary could open her mouth. "She can sew, sing, play, dance, paint, ride; anything you could think of."

"Ride?" Jace perked up. "We are riding out again for a hunt, perhaps your daughter and a few of the free ladies of the court would like to join us?"

Valentine looked thoughtful, though Jace knew how he would answer. "Why not? So long as no harm comes to my child."

"My lord, I will make it my personal obligation to see your daughter safely to and from the hunt," answered Jace.

"Highly unnecessary." It was Jonathan, and he was glaring daggers at Jace, but hid it well from the eyes of the courtiers. "I will, of course, be keeping an eye on my sister."

"It never hurts to have more than one eye, does it?" Jace asked. "Besides, I can only think that Clary has the eye of many men here. Don't you think?"

"Very pretty," Clary said, and then turned to her father. "I'd like to ride today, Father. It's been so long since I took Desmond out. I'll be perfectly safe."

"I have no doubt," answered the king. "And, as I've paperwork to attend to, why not ride out and spend time among friends?"

* * *

><p>"And do you need help up into your saddle, Princess?"<p>

Clary snapped around, half expecting Jonathan to be standing behind her as he always had. Instead, in a rush, she took in the tangled gold hair, the yellow eyes, and the constant smirk of Jace. He was watching her expectantly, his hand proffered, but for more than just a lift into the saddle.

"However did you beat my brother to the cue?" she asked, placing her hand into his and allowing him to take hold of her waist. "He is always very protective of me, Jonathan."

"He's a little too caught up with the Lady Cecilia. She was very much in need of a helping hand, and I, of course, made myself scarce."

"Quick thinking," murmured Clary, and she felt the urge to hug Jace for coming to her in the first place. "Now help me up."

Jace curled his fingers around Clary's hips and lifted her up into the saddle. She swung both her legs about and spread her skirts out before her. Jace's hands slid down her hips and onto her thighs, and he would have let them rest there had Clary not jerked her knee, her face reddening. His hand came to rest at her ankle, which was still inappropriate, and Jonathan's eyes landed on him.

Normally, Clary would have turned away, hiding her eyes and her thoughts. Later, Jonathan would have found her and snarled at her for allowing a man to touch her. He would have grabbed her arm and twisted till she went limp in his hands. But now Clary could wrap herself in the protection of Jace's name. He was going to marry her, and he was going to be the _only _man who had any right touching her. When Jonathan's eyes darkened in fury, Clary just smiled carelessly, purposefully teasing.

Jace swung himself up into the saddle and drew his horse over to Clary's. They were side by side when the horn sounded and their horses took off together. Jace noticed that Clary was an exceptionally good rider and she had a good control over the horse. He kept himself close to her, making a silent point to many of the men around him that he was the only man who would be near her. Most of them fell to the wayside, accepting but doubting. Most of the company thought the duke was aiming too high. Yes, he was of the highest status, but there was no way the King would sign off his daughter to a young, inexperienced duke.

For most of the hunt they trekked through the woods, their horses kicking up divots of dust as they followed the hounds. Eventually, one of the dogs stuck its nose up in the air, tasting the scent of the breeze. The other hounds gathered around it, waiting patiently for their leader to decide, when suddenly they broke into a chorus of barking. From the edge of a gully, a stag broke cover.

"Follow it!" Clary cried, caught up in the excitement, and kicked her horse into action.

Jace shot off after her, keeping her red hair in sight as he weaved through the dust, dirt, and forest muck that would otherwise have blinded him. He could see every time she tossed her head back in a moment of ecstasy, and wondered just what type of woman she was. She took so much pleasure in things most women disliked, and took so little pleasure in everything else. She was certainly going to make him an entertaining wife.

Meanwhile, the stag had led them down a gully and into a narrow ravine. On all sides, high stone walls were closing in, making the going tight for the large group, and many broke into lines of two or three. The horses, though experienced, were uncomfortable with the enclosure and many started, kicking back and refusing to go much farther. The group was suddenly narrowed down to Jonathan, the Lady Cecilia who refused to lose her place by his side, Clary and Jace, and the two other dukes at court who were making a point to stay even with Jace.

Ahead, the stag had found footing on the wall of the ravine and was desperately making a dash for the level ground above. The horses reared, unable to climb the walls with riders on their back, and certainly unwilling to leave the ground behind them. The dukes took of their caps in frustration.

"My Prince, I think the stag has won this round," said one carefully. "Perhaps another day, but certainly the tricky bugger has bested us."

"The flight of the desperate is always the best," added the other duke.

Jonathan wanted to tell them both off for their pointless, pretty words, but he couldn't. "Well, we certainly shan't be faulted for-"

The snap of a bow string cut across Jonathan's words and was followed immediately by the cry of the stag as it was pierced. The men turned to watch as the stag stumbled and fell, hitting each craggy precipice as it went. Its body slammed into the gully floor with a sickening thud and a cracked antler. An arrow was lodged in its throat; it had died long before it hit the first rocky edge.

Jonathan, Cecilia, and the two dukes turned about. Both Jace and Clary were holding bows, both looking expectantly at the deer. When they looked up, Lady Cecelia clapped loudly urging the dukes to wave their hats.

"A wonderful shot, Duke Herondale. Wherever did you learn to aim so?" she asked.

Jace opened his mouth to answer, but whatever he meant to say was cut off by Clary. "He grew up in the woodlands, where do you think he learned?"

With the matter settled, the men moved forward to inspect the kill and cut the stag into more manageable parts. Clary and Cecelia watched the whole time, both of them more interested in Jace than the deer. In the interim, Cecelia turned to Clary.

"Is he not the most marvelous man? The Duke Herondale is by far, the perfect lord and gentlemen. I think I shall dance with him tonight."

Clary made no answer, simply nodded, but when the men returned laden down with meat, Jace drew his horse alongside Clary's. While no one was watching he leaned over and said, "That was quite an excellent shot, Princess."

* * *

><p>That night, to celebrate the hunt, a feast was thrown together. Clary was told as she sat in her room, soaking the sweat from her body that she was to dress in high attire, and to look the most stunning of all, as was her father's orders. She had rolled her eyes and went to find a book to read while she waited for her servants to come help her dress. It wasn't long before the familiar sound of soft footsteps drew her attention.<p>

"My lady Clarissa," said Isabelle, watching her carefully. "You called for me?"

"I did," she said with a sweet smile. "I need your help with dress and hair. You were always so good at it."

Isabelle, who had accepted her return to personal servant to the princess status, bowed gracefully and began to pick through her dresses. It wasn't long before she had chosen a dark blue gown with silver details and threading. It had always reminded her of the stories she'd been told as a little girl of the wizard Merlin. Also, she thought it would look perfectly stunning on the girl's body.

"I never would have thought Jace was a Duke," Isabelle said as she helped Clary dress. "He hid it so well."

"His life depended on it," Clary replied. "I think he was safer as a slave than a Duke, for now he must contend the will of my father and the fury of my brother. But, for myself, I am most pleased he arrived."

"And that is why you must look perfect," Isabelle said. "For him. For the Duke."

"That is certainly one reason," Clary mused, and sat to have her hair done.

By the time Isabelle had finished, Clary was running short on time. She stood in the flurry and snatched a pair of gold ear rings up. She stuck them in her ears before bidding Isabelle farewell and hurrying to the great hall. When she arrived, most were seated, so she made quite the entrance.

Dinner began and was finished rather speedily. Suddenly, the musicians were striking up a chord and Clary was rising to dance. She expected Jonathan to come forward as always to lead the first dance, however, this time, Jonathan had picked another girl from the crowd and Jace come toward her, hand offered politely. Clary thought her heart might burst from the pleasure.

"Would you care to dance?" Jace asked, and then more softly: "Or just stand there looking ridiculous."

Clary took his hand gracefully and when he pulled her in, said, "You've got some nerve."

"Really? I rather liked how we were getting on. I think we'll make the most perfect couple." Jace led Clary to their place in the dance and caught Jonathan's eye. He smiled a challenge. "I don't think your brother approves very much of us, though." Jace drew Clary in closer until their bodies were separated by space enough for a piece of paper.

The music began before Clary could respond, and they spun off. It was a change for Clary, to be turning in the arms of a man who wasn't her brother-a pleasant change. She felt ridiculous for the amount of times she had recently been surprised by the fact she was in Jace's arms. It had been happening all week: the realization that she no longer had to fear Jonathan's anger. True, Jace was going to be taking the blunt of that anger now, but she couldn't feel too bad when she thought of all the times he'd hit her. She clenched Jace's hand tighter and pressed herself closer against him.

To the audience, Clary was sure it looked inappropriate, but she could care less. Clary loved the feeling of Jace's hand on her hip, the feeling of being protected. What did matter, really, if the lords and ladies of the court thought she was too familiar with Jace? They were engaged. Her father was planning on discussing the bride price with him tonight, so she felt free to do as she chose.

The music finished and Clary wished it wouldn't; when she pulled back from Jace, she bowed to him and made to leave, but her father's voice rang out. "Play again!"

Clary's shock turned into pleasant surprise; her father wanted her and Jace to dance again. As the musicians strummed the instruments, Clary took her place again with Jace, and this time, there could be no doubt that she was too familiar. Clary didn't wait to take Jace's hand and didn't bother for him to draw her in. She placed herself in the circle of his arms and smiled up at him recklessly.

The music began again, and around the court, voices started murmuring. Many of the men began to rethink their image of the duke. They had thought he was an upstart, but here he was, holding the princess like they were old friends. And the princess was more than happy to fall into his arms. They had never seen a man so quickly win the princess over. Was there more to this man than his looks, charm, and money? The women were seething with jealously at the sight of the princess in the arms of the duke. How could it be fair that she could have power, wealth, beauty, and now the most handsome man in the court?

This time, when the music ended, Clary pulled back with a triumphant smile on her face. She glanced about the room, daring any woman to come forth looking for a dance. None of them came up, and though some of the men seemed willing to come up and ask her to dance, Jace offered her his arm and asked very kindly if he might escort her to the window to catch her breath as she looked flushed. Valentine seemed unconcerned with what she was doing, so she agreed and allowed Jace to lead her away.

The music began again, and this time, the court was welcome to join. Clary noticed a few of the women glancing back at her and Jace in the window and laughed. "I think I am the subject of some women's envy."

"Well, you would be, as you're on my arm," Jace answered, and had to hide his smile when Clary glared at him. "I was agreeing with you, my dear."

"My dear?" Clary asked skeptically.

"Yes?" he asked in returned.

Clary rolled her eyes and watched the court dance. "So, what do you think of your new life, Duke Herondale?"

"It's Jace," he said sharply. "I think it's boring and tiresome, and I rather we be out in the country. At least out there I don't have to pretend to enjoy these people and I can do as I like with my wife."

"I'm not your wife yet," Clary reminded him, but the idea of the country sounded heavenly. "You find the court so dreary?"

"I see it as a joke, as I'm you must. I mean, why do we hunt for enjoyment? There is no honor or purpose. I learned to hunt meat for the table, I learned to dance because it was with a woman I wanted, and I leaned to talk to men because we were friends. This place is nothing but a lie."

Clary looked out the window and onto the darkened lawns below. "This court has always been that way, and it makes it all the more dangerous. I had hoped you might find something you like though, some reason to stay."

Jace smiled when Clary looked at him. It had been the same line the Lady Cecilia had used, but with Clary, it had sounded desolate. She really did wonder if he was happy there, and he realized she wanted him to be happy, at least with her. He took her hand and squeezed gently. "I've found something, but in my heart I'd still rather we be out in the country."

"It'll be a long while before my will father let us out in the wilds," Clary said, and she wished it wasn't true.

"Well," Jace said, smiling at a private joke, "as soon as you're with child, I can request to send you out to my manor house."

"That'll be a while," Clary warned, and peeked at her father. "You'd make my father happy I suppose. Though the rest of the court would be devastated."

"Speaking of the rest of the court," Jace muttered. "I am very tired of all these men looking at you as if they've got some hope of marrying you. Since I'm your betrothed, I expect a certain level of respect."

Jace reached into his pocket, and for a single moment, Clary thought that Jace had a ring. However, what he took from his pocket was the necklace Clary had once given him. The ruby rose glinted in the light and the gold glinted. He carefully let it hang from his fingers.

"My father gave this to my mother once, and now I'm going to give it to you." Jace undid the clasp and strung it around Clary's neck. He had a bitter smile on his face when he said, "A rose, the flower of romance and love."

When the necklace fell around her neck and settled on her collar bone Clary felt a rush of recognition. She could remember a time when Jonathan had draped the same necklace around her neck, and it had felt like a collar. Now it felt like a flag, a banner announcing her freedom. She was Jace's and everything that was his was hers. She had his land, his love, and his protection. Clary grinned like a stupid child.

"It's lovely, my lord."

Jace admired the glint of the jewel cradled on her chest. "Then it's fitting. Now, come with me and dance. I fear the ladies will talk if we're gone for too long together."


	14. Engagement

Engagement 

Clary's chest rose and fell anxiously as she sat outside her father's privy chamber later that night. The musicians had long since stopped their playing, the dancers their twirling, the lords their gambling and the ladies their gossiping. Silence had fallen over the castle, interrupted only by the crackle of the fire in the grate and the beat of Clary's heart pulsing through her veins. Behind the closed doors, Jace and her father were coming to terms on a bride price, though it seemed pointless as they all knew that no matter how small the bid, Jace would accept. Still, Valentine seemed to want to do this right, and was making all the necessary arrangements.

_I wonder how much I'm worth, _Clary mused, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. _Probably less than my father's best horse. At least a horse can be ridden._ At the thought, Clary's cheeks turned bright red as she couldn't help but recall her father's demand of her. _I guess the price is really for the prince I'll carry, and he's got to be worth something_.

Almost unconsciously, Clary's hand came to rest on her belly. It was empty now, and she intended to keep it that way for a while, but what if her father had other plans? She shuddered at the idea of bringing a child into this family. Valentine was bad enough, but Jonathan would be an absolute nightmare. A baby boy would represent everything he despised: the son of his greatest rival, the son of the woman who should have been his, and the heir to his throne. No, Clary wouldn't bring a child into this family unless under force.

Suddenly, there was a creak from behind her and Clary spun about. Lurking in the shadows, eyes resting on Clary, was Jonathan. When he saw her watching, he smiled wolfishly and drew closer. There was a sharpness to his tread that reminded Clary of one of his hunting dogs. She drew back, hoping that her father and Jace would soon be done and she could lock herself in her rooms for the night.

"Hello, dear sister," Jonathan said smoothly. "What are you doing out so late and so alone? I would have thought you and your lover boy would be secreted away somewhere."

Clary tried to ignore the blow to Jace and her pride. "I would if I could, but since he's with father discussing our wedding, I can't exactly be enjoying a good romp, now can I?"

"That's vulgar language for a proper woman," Jonathan said sharply.

"Well, I figured that _your_ behavior is vulgar, so why not my mouth?" Clary offered him a polite smile. "We are, after all, _brother and sister_."

"So easy to forget," Jonathan murmured in return, and then drew level to Clary. He almost at once spotted the necklace. "So, I see you still wear my gift."

Clary's hand shot to the rose at her throat. "Not quite, brother. This belonged to Jace's mother, which I suppose is where you got it." Clary cringed as Jonathan smiled at some memory. "I returned it to him one day, and tonight, he gave it to me as a display of his love and intentions. So, really, it is a gift from Jace. You, on the other hand, were just pawning off something stolen."

Jonathan's hand snapped out before Clary could stop it, and he curled his fist around the rose. "Be careful how you throw your words around, sister. I'm a short man, I've always been short, and I don't like it when something else is short with me. _I _gave you this, and you know it."

"Say what you will, it doesn't change the fact that I'm marrying Jace." Clary jerked back, tearing the rose from his grip. "In fact, I'll be marrying him soon, since Father is even now agreeing on a bride price, and once I'm married I'll never have to suffer your presence again."

"Well, until that time," growled Jonathan, "you'll have to suffer. You're my sister, and even if you're married, you're still my subject. Don't think you can escape me just because you hide behind the name Herondale."

"I won't hide," said Clary with a smile. "I will flaunt myself before you with the knowledge that you can't touch me. I will dance, sing, ride and live before your very eyes, but I will do it all for my husband, Jace."

Jonathan anger seemed to have peeked then, for he lunged at her. For the briefest moment Clary felt his fingers wrap about her arm and the nails dig in. She felt the sharp pain lace up her arm, and she reacted instinctively, flinching away. However, the door opened then and Jace came out looking pleased but distracted. When his eyes landed on the sight of Clary withering in Jonathan's grip, he snarled silently and threw himself between them.

"Let go of her!" he ordered, pressing Clary against the wall behind him and making himself a barrier between them. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"She is my sister," Jonathan snapped. "I will do as I will with her, and you would do well remember your place, _Duke_."

"Husband trumps brother," Jace said shortly, and he produced a small ring, which he swiftly slid onto Clary's finger. "You father and I have come to an agreement, and Clary and I are to be wed on the first of next month. Now, she is my betrothed, and loyal first and foremost to me."

"I will be king-"

Jace snorted derisively. "Yes, until my son is born and named the heir to the throne. You have no wife, nor will your father seek to forge you a marriage unless to another shadowhunter, so you will never have a son. However, your nephew will have the blood of the Angel. You're nothing but a pretender sitting on the throne." Clary was shocked. No one had ever spoken to her brother so cruelly and so mockingly with no fear of retribution. Jonathan must have been just as surprised because for once he seemed lost for words. "Clary, come with me. Jonathan, you should speak with your father. I'm sure you have much to discuss."

Jonathan mouthed at him, but Jace took Clary's hand and led her away. Clary was stumbling wildly. "Jace, you can't do that! Jonathan-Jonathan will be furious. He-he'll come after me and come after _you-_"

"I'm not worried about what Jonathan will do to me, but as for you, I want you to lock the door to your room every night and bolt it from the inside. Keep Luke by you at all times when I'm not there." Jace was walking swiftly, more dragging her than leading. "I know your father trained you to fight, so you'll have weapons. Keep one with you and use one to hold the handles shut."

"Don't worry about it," Clary said softly. She pulled Jace to a stop and carefully removed a small blade from the folds of her dress. Jace recognized it at once as a stele. "My father, he showed me how to use the runes, and he showed me how to use my gift."

"You're gift?"

"I will show you," she said, and took him to her room. He followed her in and she closed the door. Before Jace's eyes she flicked the blade at the door, drawing a rune he had never seen. When Clary gestured at the door Jace tried it, and the door stayed firmly shut.

"How did you do that?" Jace asked in awe. "I've never seen that rune before."

"Of course not," Clary said matter-of-factly. "I've only just made it, but it will hold fast, even against Jonathan-I think."

"You can _make _new runes?"

Clary turned away and shrugged delicately. "I don't know why, only that I can. My father said I am gifted, and since I was born, I could. I don't ask when I receive a gift."

"If you could lock this door, why not do it at all times?" Jace tried the handle with his own runes, but the door stayed firm.

"I do-_now_," Clary whispered. "When I was a girl I was too afraid my father would catch me misusing my gift, so I didn't risk it. Only recently have I started locking my doors again. It will stay closed till I open it."

Jace nodded, wondering at the small woman before him. "Good. Keep this door locked at night, sleep with the knife and Luke by your side, and open this door only for me in the morning. I will come for you every day."

Clary felt her heart pound. "Will you really? And are we really going to be married on the first of next month?"

Jace nodded stiffly. "Yes. Until that time, though, I think we should be careful of Jonathan. You especially. Once we're married it will be easier for me to protect you."

_Protect me?_ Clary wondered, never having been offered the service before. "Do you want me to lock your door at night? That way, Jonathan won't get to you either."

"No," Jace said, eyeing the rune. He reached out and cupped Clary's cheek in his palm. "I can replicate it. Just keep an eye on yourself, Clary, I can take care of myself."

Clary wanted to curl up in his arms, but as she couldn't, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of Jace. "I can't thank you enough for what you're doing. You don't understand just how horrible it has been, how much I've had to suffer at his hands-"

"Stop speaking, Clary," Jace ordered, his gold eyes burning. "I don't want to know how you've been hurt, because I don't think I can get the revenge I'd like to take if I knew. Just know that if I could, I would avenge your suffering twofold. However, since I can't, I shall multiply your enjoyment twofold."

"I would take _any _enjoyment at this point," Clary sighed and then took his hand in hers. "You swear you'll come and get me tomorrow morning?"

"First thing," he said, and then, in very proper and calm way, took Clary's right hand and kissed it. Clary felt her fingers tingle as he bowed and left. When the door had closed she stared at it stupidly before she remembered that she had promised Jace she'd lock it.

That evening, Clary prepared for bed alone having sent Isabelle away. She considered the slave girl as she sat before her mirror and brushed her hair. She had summoned Isabelle back to her not two days after Jace had kissed her. She said simply she was sorry and would love to have Isabelle back in her service. Isabelle had smiled simply and come back with a silent grace. Clary had, almost at once, told Isabelle about Jace's past. She had since proven a useful ally, always there when Clary needed her, a confidant of Clary's fears, and relaxing company in the evenings. However, this night, the night her father agreed to the wedding, she'd wanted to be alone. This think and to dream and to make silly faces at herself in the mirror.

Clary turned back the covers of her bed and slid under the heavy blankets. "Luke, Luke come here, boy!" Clary watched Luke pad in, hovering at first by the door as if uncertain he was even welcome. He had always been like that, Clary noticed, never comfortable in her room, always pausing to check about him. She supposed he was just always on his guard. "You have to sleep with me now, Luke; I can't be alone."

Luke's ears perked up and he carefully jumped on her bed. He settled at her feet, curled up and watching the door. The last thing Clary did before curling up to sleep was tuck a blade under her pillow, the handle poised perfectly for her to grab it. She swiftly put out the lamp beside her and drifted off to sleep, the thought of her impending wedding on her mind.

* * *

><p>The announcement of the Duke Jace Herondale and the Princess Clarissa Morgenstern's engagement spread like wildfire through the ranks of the court. The first to hear, naturally, were all Clary's potential rivals; the women who had looked at Jace and wondered just how far out of their reach he was, had calculated their chances of rising in status using only their charm and beauty. They were the first to know, and the first to whisper it further down the line, their voices bitter. From them, the men of status took notice. At first, the men thought it was just suspicions of the ladies, but soon, they were hearing it on all sides, from proper ladies, maids, even a few murmured notices of the slaves. There could be no mistake that the duke was engaged. Though the men were not gossips the occasional mention of the engagement was loud enough to trickle down to the lowest court members: the knights, the land lords, the mayors and so on. In a day, it seemed the entire world had been made aware.<p>

When Clary arrived in court, dressed in a flattering gold and cream gown, eyes turned on her. She had expected this, been preparing in her room for it, and had already planned her strategy for answering what was going to be an assault of questions. She, Isabelle, and Jace had thought the best thing to do was to be both happy and gushing. It would be a good ruse to hide the truth behind their engagement: Valentine's desire to control the remaining shadowhunters. Clary would be the blushing bride, bursting with joy at the very mention.

"Princess," said one of the ladies, trying, and failing, at pretending to be serious. "I've heard the most interesting little thing."

Clary batted her lashes. "How little?"

The woman paused, trying to gather herself. "Well, I've heard that you've become engaged. And to the duke, no less! Such a sudden decision since you've only known each other a week at most."

"We've known each other longer," Clary began. "My mother, and the Duchess, at the time, were good friends. We were betrothed in the cradle."

"Then it's true!" said one of the ladies, and her eyes held all the condemnation they could at the royal family keeping such secrets. "How long, then, will the engagement last?"

Clary held out her hand, the ring glinting on her finger, for inspection. "Just for the rest of the month. Soon, I will be the Duchess Herondale." For good measure, Clary sighed breathlessly.

"Your family must be so pleased," cooed the Lady Cecilia. She was eyeing Clary with something akin to poorly disguised distaste. She didn't think it very fair that while the Princess seemed to have everything she could ever desire, she could still reach out her hand and pluck up the most eligible bachelor. "I suppose the celebrations will be excellent?"

"I certainly hope so," Clary said, and summoned a maid with her sewing basket. "I haven't spoken much with my father about the plans, but I can only think that it shall be done in proper fashion with dancing, and music, and entertainments of every sort. Everyone will be invited, of course."

"Of course," said another lady.

Clary carefully began plucking her way through the basket, her fingers brushing over the string and needles, but she paused thoughtfully when her finger tips came into contact with something not found in her sewing basket. She glanced down and purred in pleasant surprise.

"What is this?" she asked, the ladies around her squirming to see what Clary had found. She removed from the basket, a small but perfect rose. Around the stem was a small note. She plucked the note off and read it aloud. "A rose for my perfect flower. With love, your admiring Duke."

"Why that is just beautiful!" cried the older matron beside Clary. "Such a lovely thought the Duke sends."

"Yes, I thought so," said Clary, pleased.

Lady Cecilia stared at the rose, forcing her lips into a smile, but grinding her teeth. She had never been presented such a sweet gift before. Yes, she'd had jewels and words and flowers, but to given such a perfect rose by a man who clearly adored you was something Cecilia had never received. She had an urge to rise and leave the room, but propriety held her back and manners kept her silent and smiling.

"It will be difficult, of course," Clary went on, looking down, the picture of innocence, "to plan a wedding with no mother. I have no desire to leave it to my father alone, but I can think of no one else to help. The Duchess is dead, so there is no one. I do hope I don't botch the whole thing."

"Of course you won't," one of the older women said. "You will have nothing but the finest things. Your wedding will be a stunning hit, the celebration of the year, talked about for ages."

Clary smiled graciously. "Thank you."

Afterward, as Clary seemed content to do nothing but stare at her rose and smile, the ladies began sewing or reading, singing or composing. It was a quiet morning after that, accompanied by the occasional murmured comment, mostly circulating around the princess. When the horn sounded announcing the arrival of the king and the rest of the court, Clary looked up, holding the rose in the light for all to see. When she spotted Jace, a small, knowing smile curled her lips.

"Clarissa," Valentine called, drawing Jace forward. Jonathan, who had been standing to the right of Valentine, was forced to move aside. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Jace. "Come here, daughter. Have you told your ladies the good news?"

Clary rose gracefully and came forward to greet her father with the rose in her hand. "Even had I meant to keep it a secret, father, the Duke has taken me by surprise. I found this in my sewing basket this morning." Clary held the rose up for his inspection.

"How very considerate," Valentine mused. He plucked the rose up and inspected it, slowly, he nodded as if it had met some standard. When Valentine gave Clary back the rose he snatched her hand and held up the ring. "Well, for those who have failed to understand, the Duke Herondale has proposed to my daughter. They shall be married next month."

There was an enthusiastic applause. Clary bowed perfectly, and when she came up, it was Jace who was holding her hand. He smiled when she met his eye and kissed the ring. He turned to face the crowd. "I hope you will all join us for this happy celebration."

The rest of the day passed by for Clary in a blur of courtiers, mostly women, coming forward to congratulate her. She took lunch among the ladies who all offered their best bits of advice for her wedding. After, she went back to the Queen's chamber and practiced her music idly. However, when the bell for dinner sounded and she was escorted by Jace, she caught sight of Jonathan, and she knew whatever joy she had was short lived.

Jonathan watched as Clary ate and then spent the rest of the evening twirling on Jace's arm, and when the final stanzas of the music was strung, Clary felt his eyes on her. She looked up and saw there was dark calculation in his eyes. He caught her watching and smiled.

"Clarissa, Jace, would you please stay a moment?" It was Valentine. He was sipping his wine as they passed and when they turned to face him, he swirled the wine, splashing a little on them. "I feel I have a matter I'd like to discuss."

Clary felt Jace push her behind him protectively. "And what is that, my lord?"

"I feel there had been some unwarranted tension between you two and my son," he began. "Perhaps some words have been said, looks exchanged. Regardless of what it was, I won't have you two picking fights in my court." His eyes flicked over Jace. "I spared you so far, Duke, because it suited my purpose. You two should bear in mind why you are here in the first place."

"We have not forgotten, father," Clary piped up. "Jonathan has hounded us-"

"She's lying," Jonathan put in sharply.

Whatever Valentine's thoughts on the matter he didn't say, though from the look he cast at Jonathan he sensed the lie, and from the look he leveled Clary with, he was unamused. "I don't really care what either of you have to say. I am only concerned with the appearance you give to the court. Where appearance is concerned, Jonathan can at least conduct himself with some amount of propriety."

Jonathan smiled swiftly, sensing his victory.

"We will certainly take care to conduct ourselves with a higher level of respect towards-"

"Silence, boy," Valentine said, rising. He stepped down from the platform and stood before Clary and Jace like an imposing wall. His hand shot out before Clary could warn Jace, and curled around Jace's hair. He jerked the young man forward and Jace fell to his knees, holding back any yelp of pain he would normally have released. Clary rushed forward but Valentine raised his hand threateningly. "Control yourself, daughter. Now, I will only say this once. I don't care how much it hurts-" here, he twisted his fingers tighter in Jace's hair "-I don't care how degraded you feel, you will act like what you are: a lord and lady of high rank. Is that understood?"

"Yes, father," Clary said after a beat.

It was Jace who remained thoughtfully silent. After a minute of Valentine staring at him, he cleared his throat. "How can we swear to it when Jonathan won't? If we can't defend ourselves from him, certainly he will attack?"

Valentine considered this a moment and then struck Jace across the face casually. "You raise a good point, but, interestingly enough, I couldn't care less. I am, after all, partial to my own children's needs than to those of a son-in-law. You will just have to learn to bear this."

"And will it be that way until the day I die?" Jace challenged, though Clary was squeezing his shoulder in warning.

"No," said Valentine smartly, tossing Jace down. "Just until the day you give me a grandson. Then I will value you and Clarissa most of my servants and I will heed your words. However, until that day, you will rank below my next heir."

"We understand, father," Clary said, this time louder. "Both Jace and I understand and will do as you say."

Valentine reached into his pocket and produced his stele. "I mean to make you understand."

"Father," Clary said, a soft pleading in her voice. "Please, you don't have to do this."

"I'm afraid I do," he replied, and took Jace's arm in his hand. He caressed the wrist, looking at it like an empty canvas. Then, before Jace comprehend what he was doing, Valentine plunged the blade into his arm, but, instead of drawing out the swirling runes, he just sliced and carved at his flesh. Jace began to squirm, gasping at intervals. When Valentine was complete, he moved to the other wrist and performed the same, debilitating strokes. Clary watched, helpless.

"Now, my dear daughter, see your fiancé away from me and make certain those wounds are gone by tomorrow morning. I believe Jace has a fitting for his wedding attire and it would be hard to explain such ugly scars."

Then Valentine turned and left as if nothing had happened, as if he had not just tortured his future son-in-law, as if he was not insane. Clary watched him go, holding Jace tightly and sobbing. Jonathan rose and smiled down at the two of them. The scent of Jace's blood was an intoxicating as wine. Before he left, he came to Clary and kissed her cheek, enjoying the sight of a furious Jace.

After a long minute in which Clary sobbed and Jace rasped, Clary managed to find her voice. "Hurry, I'll get you to my room and then have Isabelle go for Magnus."


	15. Preparations

Preparations 

"Who'd you piss off?" Magnus asked as Jace slumped down before him, holding his arms awkwardly before him. The blood dribbled off them, pooling on the floor, and reflecting back his grimacing face. Luke, who had emerged the moment Jace had entered the rooms, drew forward, nosing at the puddle. Magnus, who had watched the wolf, watched him pull back and growl low in his throat. "You look like you got in a fight with a pair of scissors."

"Magnus," Clary said, hurrying out of the bathroom with an armful of rags. "Please, this is serious. Jace needs to be better by tomorrow or my father will know. He'll be so furious…"

"Because he wasn't already?" said Magnus, but nodded and signaled Jace to a stool before the flaming hearth. "Sit closer to the fire, I'll be able to see better and heat the rags faster."

Jace, who had collapsed on one of the chairs and was in a state of half-wakefulness, looked bitterly at the distance he had to cover. "I'll be more comfortable here."

"I know _that_." Magnus pointed at the stool forcefully. "All the same, I need you there; once I'm done, I'll personally move you to the bed if that's what you want. However, I need to move quickly if you don't want scars."

Though he looked ready to fight, Jace suddenly shrugged as if he didn't care, and hauled himself to his feet. Clary saw him stumble, and she rushed to his side, wrapping her arm around his waist and allowing him to lean against her. Jace again fell more than sat down on the stool, but he smiled roguishly all the same, simply to dissuade Clary's fears.

"So," Magnus said, settling before Jace. "How did this happen?"

Jace rolled his eyes. "Valentine was displeased, that's all."

Magnus took one of Jace's arms and turned it over delicately. He saw the deeps gashes and ragged skin, the blood that welled on his arms. "I suppose you were lucky Valentine wasn't angry."

"What do you need?" Clary asked at once. "More rags? Medicine? Poultices?"

Magnus hummed, never taking his eyes off Jace's arms. "I'll need you to stay here and help me with the boy. Send Isabelle and Alec for water, and have Max heat it to a boil."

Clary barely turned away, simply called over her shoulders, "Isabelle. Fetch her brothers, and bring pails of water. You heard what Magnus said."

Isabelle, who had been watching, waiting for a command, jumped to attention. "Yes, my lady, at once." She rushed from the room, thinking only of the blood on the floor and the flames from the fire casting sharp shadows on the walls, and how glad she was to be free of it.

As Isabelle rushed from the room, Clary settled in for a long night. She knew better than to think that those wounds were going to go away in a day. It was going to be a long, painful process. "Will he be okay by tomorrow? If he's not my father will be in such a temper that he'll give Jace a new set of scars."

Magnus paused, thoughtful. "I can fix this, but it'll take a while, and you'll be weak, Jace. Can you sleep here?"

Jace raised his eyebrows at Clary. "Of course he can," Clary said quickly. "Will it drain his strength that much?"

Magnus nodded. "Oh, yes. I'll have to use most of Jace's strength to fix his wounds. It's rather complicated to explain…"

Clary just shook her head. "Make him better, Magnus. He can sleep in my bed for all I care."

"Such scandal," Jace chuckled, but his smile seemed strained.

"We're getting married anyway," Clary shrugged, "it's not like it makes a difference if you spend a few evenings with me. I'm sure that even if the gossip got out, my father wouldn't call off the engagement. What's the worst he could do, besides? Send me to the country?" Clary laughed suddenly at the thought of being free of her father. "Maybe that's what we'll have to do once we're married? Cause such a scandal my father will have no choice but to send us away?"

"Sounds like a plan," Jace murmured.

"Let's get you two married first, okay?" Magnus said, and they waited until Isabelle, Alec, and Max returned, each carrying two buckets of water.

"Will this be enough?" Isabelle asked, lining the buckets of water up. "Do you think we'll need more?"

Magnus scrunched his nose. "Alec, come back with two more, and Isabelle, I want you to go the kitchens and bring me these herbs." He produced a list of herbs written in flowing hand. "Don't let anyone see what you've gone for, and don't tell anyone. I know you can read, so just match what I've written to what the bottles say. Remember, no one can know."

Isabelle nodded, staring at the list a moment. "Not a word," she said, and then took Alec with her down to the kitchen.

Max watched them go and then turned to Clary. "What should I do?"

"Boil the water," she answered swiftly. "And then soak the rags in it, please."

Like a shot, Max took off. He had always liked Clary, and from the moment he'd met Jace, had imagined him as some sort of hero. After all, how many slaves were made Dukes? He began to work the fire up, hanging the first bucket above the coals, watching as the flames licked the bucket. He carefully began to pile rags into the steaming water.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked Jace as he watched the fire. "I saw someone die from cuts like that. But, the apothecary said it was poison, so, I guess the man had been poisoned by the wild cat that attacked him…"

"Not quite," Jace said, smiling at the boy's innocent ignorance. "I'm sure Magnus here can make me better. Don't worry about poison."

"I wouldn't panic if I were you, Maxwell," Magnus said, peeking into the pot. "And stoke the fire!"

Max turned with new vigor to the fire, and soon, the room was stifling. Clary looked over to the windows and saw that they had steamed up. When she turned to smile comfortingly at Jace, she saw that he had broken out in a sweat. "Is it too hot in here?" she asked to no one in particular. "Perhaps we should open a window?"

"No," Magnus said sharply. "The heat it good for the body if there is an infection. I wouldn't put it past Valentine-or Jonathan- to have dirtied the blade before slicing Jace's skin. It would be a cruel addition, but one we should consider."

Clary thought of her father. How he always seemed to be thinking, considering, never quite direct with her. _Yes, Father would do something as underhanded as use a soiled blade when he cut Jace, if not for the dishonor it would mean, then for the infection he could give._

"I'm fine, Clary," Jace said, taking her hand and squeezing. When he saw the way Clary's eyes lingered on the cuts and then traveled to his face, he sighed indulgently. "My love, I promise, I will not die here in this room. If not for the fact that I love you, then because it would be dreadfully hard to explain why you were removing the body of your betrothed from your room at night. Think what the ladies might say." His lips quirked up, challenging her to respond.

"It would be doubly condemning, since the wedding would then be canceled," Clary laughed weakly.

The doors opened then, and Isabelle returned with the herbs, Alec in tow with buckets of water. She seemed flushed. "I've brought what you wanted, but…Aline caught me in the kitchen taking herbs." She turned to Clary, pleading. "I swear I didn't tell her, but you know her! Her snake eyes see everything. I'm afraid she will tell the kitchen warden what I was taking, and then he will tell the staff master, and then it will somehow get back to the king…"

Clary raised her hand imperiously. "Fear not, Isabelle. If anyone asks, you will tell them you were bringing the herbs to Magnus for my needs. Tell them I was sick, I was bleeding."

"Bleeding?" Isabelle asked, eyeing Clary closely. "You don't have a wound to show for it."

"Monthly bleeding," Clary corrected, shooting her a devilish smile.

"Concern yourselves with the stories later," Magnus said, frustrated. "Bring me the herbs. I have work to do, lives to save."

"Someone has a complex," Clary muttered and Isabelle gave Magnus the herbs.

The silence that followed was one of careful contemplation and calculation. Magnus worked meticulously, tearing a bundle of herbs and mixing them into the boiling water. A scent filled the room, something sharp and pungent, and Clary wondered what it was and if she should be worried. However, Magnus didn't seem concerned and removed one of the rags. He wrung it out and carefully wrapped it about Jace's arm.

Jace sighed, a good kind of sigh, Clary thought. "That feels different," Jace commented.

"I'm just cleaning the wounds," Magnus said matter-of-factly. "We've got a lot ahead of us, so enjoy it while you can."

Magnus spoke the truth, and an hour later, Magnus had finally finished cleaning out Jace's arms. The cuts were no longer oozing blood, but the torn skin around them was angry red. Jace had to hold his arms awkwardly to avoid touching anything that might infect the cuts. Clary had given up watching the painful display and had risen, swishing back and forth around Jace.

"Clary, please, sit and be calm," Jace urged, trying to smile at her and failing when Magnus tweaked his arm. "You're making me nervous."

"A book." Clary stopped her endless pacing. "Would you like me to read to you to fill the silence?"

Jace raised an eyebrow at Magnus, who shrugged; clearly, his mind was on the injuries at hand. Jace shrugged. "It has been so long since I have heard a good story. It would be a pleasure to hear you read."

"An adventure!" Max piped up from his place by the fire. "I want an adventure story with warriors, and battles, and glory!"

"Max!" Alec said, shushing him.

"I have just the one," Clary murmured, and vanished to the library. When she returned, she was holding an old, worn book. Max, who couldn't read, didn't recognize the title, but Jace lightened at the familiar story. Clary began with a smile at Max:

"_Rage-Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles, _

_Murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, _

_Hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,"_

When she looked up, she saw that Max was hanging on her every word, and that Jace had leaned back, closing his eyes. He smiled ever so slightly, and she realized that he knew the tale, had probably read it himself, and might love it as much as she.

"What is this?" Isabelle asked.

"_The Iliad,_" Clary answered swiftly. "An old epic from the east."

"Where did you get it?" Alec asked, interested in the fact that there was a place that Valentine's power had clearly never reached.

"Where do you think?" Clary asked, smiling over at Magnus. "It's a rather wonderful story, though very tragic. But there is war, and glory, and soldiers who fight for both honor and revenge. And, of course, a beautiful queen."

"Do continue," Jace said suddenly. "It helps to pass the time better than waiting for the burn of a new ointment."

Clary began again, and Magnus worked smoothly to the sound of her voice. Once the wounds had been cleaned, he could apply a poultice and then slowly, begin to work the magic to sew the skin back together. For the most part, the herbs were just for show, however, they served another purpose: people assumed it was the herbs that were healing, not his magic, and that some of the herbs were similar to a sedative.

When Magnus looked up, Jace had relaxed under the heavy plumes of scented steam, and Max had actually slipped off to sleep before the fire. Clary was reading slowly, some of her words slurring together and her eyes drooping. Alec and Isabelle were seated, leaning against each other, listening to the sound of Clary's voice, slipping into a sleep. It seemed that then was a good time for magic.

Magnus wrapped both of Jace's arms in new cloths and carefully began to apply pressure to his right arm. Magnus began to draw on Jace's own energy, directing the flow of it to the cuts on his arm. Her could feel the heat of the pulsing energy, see the faint glow that Jace's body emanated. Under his hands, he could feel the slices fuse back together, healing over without a scar. Magnus then checked the arm and found it free of scars. He checked Jace's face, and since he seemed to be slipping back and forth between sleep and wakefulness, Magnus repeated the same magic on the other arm.

"Jace," he said after he was sure the wounds were gone. "Jace, it's done. You can go to bed now."

Jace's eyelids fluttered open and he stared at his arms in wonder. His voice, when he spoke, was weak. "How did you do that?"

"I am a doctor," he said, standing and looking Jace over. "And you are a young, tired man. You need to get in bed and sleep to recover your strength. Clary, help me move him. You said he can sleep in your bed, yes?"

"Hm?" Clary pulled herself from the book, and her eyes were hazy. "Oh, yes, of course. I think Isabelle and Alec have fallen asleep."

Magnus nodded and he and Clary heaved Jace to his feet. They half carried, half dragged him into her room and got him onto the bed. Clary noticed that he seemed delirious for some reason, and inexplicably tired. Magnus shooed Clary away and helped to undress some of Jace's outer clothes. When Clary dared to come back over, Jace was down to his undershirt and pants, and was wrapped under her blankets. Magnus sat Clary down on the edge of the bed.

"Before I leave, I'm going to burn some herbs in here to keep the air clean."

_Keep the air clean? _Clary thought vaguely. _That's not right._

"Stay with Jace tonight, and tomorrow, get food in him at once. He's going to be weak all of tomorrow after the ordeal. Just keep him off his feet and comfortable."

"Okay," Clary murmured tiredly. She wanted nothing so much but to curl up in the sheets as well and just forget everything. She'd never been so tired in her life. "I'll have Isabelle get him breakfast as soon as the sun rises."

"Right, well, as long as that's decided, you should get into bed," Magnus ordered, and vanished to find the herbs to put them into a deep sleep.

When he returned, Clary had snuggled under the covers in her dress and all, and her eyes were shut tight. Shaking his head, Magnus tossed the bundle of herbs on the fire and the scent exploded into the air, diffusing into the room like a heady cloud. He then carefully wrote a note to Clary explaining what he had just told her and left it by her side. As he left the room, he spotted the huge wolf and winked at it.

The last thing he did before he left the slumbering people was run his hand over the door, leaving a glowing mark that faded slowly into nothing but lingered, like a reminder that the inhabitants were asleep, and best left alone.

* * *

><p>The last part of the month slipped by without comment for Clary and Jace after that. Jace fell into the court routine nicely, but then, it was easy for him to gain favor. The men enjoyed his company because he was both smart and quick-witted; his company was fraught with amiable chuckles and intelligent conversation. Women flocked to Jace's company because, while he was already engaged, he was handsome to look at and never ceased to have something charming to say. Clary, of course, remained reserved as ever, but her smiles were somewhat easier to come by and her talk less dour.<p>

There could be nothing said for Jace and Clary as a couple but that they were in love. The court watched them ride out together on horseback, stroll the garden walks with their heads bent close to one and other, whispering, compare current literature, gamble on dice, play cards, and dance gracefully across the great hall. They were, everyone agreed, extremely well suited to one and other and their marriage couldn't seem to come soon enough. When the turn of the month arrived there was an excitement in the air that couldn't be contained.

On the eve of the wedding, Valentine asked Clary and Jace to stay back after the rest of lords and ladies had retired. Though Jace had been wary of Valentine since their last encounter, he gave Clary's had a squeeze and watched while the men and women filed out. He was surprised when even Jonathan left the room, casting his usual glare his way.

"So, we've come to it," Valentine began once the doors were closed shut. His eyes raked Clary's form, pressed against Jace for support. She had seemed tired and out of sorts at dinner. "I trust you two have been preparing for tomorrow wisely?"

"Father?" Clary asked tiredly. She wasn't in the mood for his games.

"I mean, my dear daughter, that while you have been presenting yourself respectfully to the court, I have heard whispers here and there, and hope that you have not brought shame to this family name. I want this wedding to be right and _proper_."

"What are you suggesting?" Clary began, but Jace spoke over.

"I would not take advantage of your daughter's innocence, Valentine," he began, and then, with a sharpness that left no doubt in Valentine's mind to who he referred, said, "no matter how tempting the prospect has been to other powerful men of this court."

"Careful, boy," was all Valentine said. "I was just checking; as I've said, these rumors do not sit well with me, and you, Clarissa, seemed so drawn and tired. I thought perhaps some scandal had taken place."

"You thought I was with child!" Clary snarled, snapping out of her tiredness.

Valentine smiled wistfully, taking pleasure in his daughter's discomfort. "I thought I should ask. Now, Jace, tomorrow you will join this family, and from that moment on, there will be expectations of you that you _will _meet."

"And here I thought it would just be a picnic," Jace began.

"That mouth of yours is the first thing to go, boy," Valentine said, the threat only in his eyes. "I will not brook your rebellious nature any more. You will report to me early every morning, before the sun rises so that I might complete your training as a shadowhunter."

"My training was complete," Jace hissed, taking it as an insult to his father.

"Not hardly," laughed Valentine. "I have standards that I expect you to meet, and I guarantee you that anything that pathetic excuse for your father taught you will not be enough."

Jace held back any sharp reply. "As you'll have it. Anything else I should be made aware of?"

"Yes," Valentine continued. "I will have you as an obedient son. I expect that you will behave properly, and when next I call on you, ask you to do something, order you to a place, you will go to it…that also means you will obey Jonathan."

At that, Jace's eyes narrowed and his lips drew into and tight line. With what already seemed liked an instinct, Jace pushed Clary behind him. "How can you expect me to do that when Jonathan wants me dead? He's constantly one step away from feeding me to his hounds and taking Clary. I won't _bow _to him-"

"He is your prince," said Valentine sharply. "You will go on bended knee before him and swear an oath of fealty to both his rule and his name. You will obey him as much as you do me."

"Your son is a psychopath," returned Jace, just as curtly.

"Call him any names you want, just remember, he is your prince." Valentine rose and stalked before Clary and Jace. "As for you, my dear daughter, I do hope you remember why Jace is here in the first place. Those games you've played since your mother died have come to an end tomorrow. And if you continue, I'll see your husband pay the price." His eyes raked Jace, considering. "You've grown up in my court, Clarissa, and I don't pretend to ignore what you would have hidden from me. Whatever goings on in your room you think I might not be aware of, I am. In those dark nights, those dark lonely nights, when you shrank away inside yourself, I was aware." At this, Jace felt Clary's body go stiff and her hand in his go cold and clammy. She seemed to shrink behind him and Jace wondered what Valentine knew. "Now just imagine, dear Clarissa, if that same fate belonged to the Duke."

"Y-you wouldn't," Clary said softly, but with a tremor in her voice that scared Jace. "You can't. Who would take Jace-"

"You would be surprised, my dear daughter, what a person might do," Valentine said swiftly. "I will not hesitate to punish where punishment is due, and I will not shirk in my duties as a king and father."

"Valentine, I'm sure Clary will not go against your wishes," Jace said before Valentine sent her into a panic. He could feel her shaking behind him and wondered just what was on Clary's mind.

With a crooked smile, Valentine said, "For your sake, I hope so. Now, you two may be on your way."

Jace did not hesitate to take Clary away, leading her, shivering, down the halls until they reached her room. Isabelle jumped to attention the moment Clary and Jace entered, but Jace sent her running with an order to fetch her warm water and a soft nightgown. Isabelle took in the state of Clary with one glance and hurried off for the goods. Jace helped Clary lurch into her room and seat her on her bed; Isabelle rushed forth with the nightgown.

"Milady, Clary, you're shaking like a leaf and you're cold as ice!" Isabelle exclaimed. "We must get you into bed. We can't have you sick for your wedding tomorrow."

Clary glanced up. "Of course," she said, and Jace was reminded of the night he had heard Clary and Jonathan argue. She had the same distant, glazed look about her. "Yes, Isabelle help me dress."

Isabelle helped Clary behind her dressing screen and worked her in a nightgown. Jace waited anxiously, and when Clary emerged he helped her to her bed. She fell softly into the blankets and Jace and Isabelle tucked her in. As Jace bent and brushed a kiss on her forehead, Isabelle placed a heating pan by her feet.

When Jace emerged from the room, Isabelle behind him closing the door softly, he turned to face her. "Isabelle, what happened to Clary?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Isabelle asked. "You were with her the entire night?"

"No, Isabelle, I mean, what happened to her before I came? Valentine mentioned things, things that didn't make any sense." Jace pointed to the door angrily. "Someone hurt her, I know they did."

"My lord, I wouldn't know," Isabelle said. "I was employed to Clary not long ago. You must speak to someone who knows her better. Perhaps the doctor, Magnus. They seem to be good friends, and he's been here since Clary was a girl."

Jace rolled the thought around his head, along with the threats he had received that very night. Valentine had, on no uncertain terms, told him he was going to be punished. "I get the feeling the doctor and I are going to know each other very well, very soon."


	16. Half Sick of Shadows

**So, this is just a note that this chapter deals with some mature themes**

Half Sick of Shadows

The wedding of the Duke Jace Herondale to the Princess Clarissa Morgenstern was one that would forever linger in the memories of all the courtiers for many years. Many of the more pronounced lords, and those seeking favor and advancement, and their wives made an effort to rise early and come to the sacred ceremony. It was a solemn and beautiful ceremony; the young couple stood before an ornate alter in the Church of the Angel and bowed their heads and whispered the words of love and binding, of promise and eternity, of protection and loyalty. After the oath had been spoken, Jace improvised his own addendum that struck the heart of many women.

"I swear to you, Clarissa Morgenstern, that I will protect you from all harm. Should you be cold, I will be the cloak you wrap about your shoulders. Should you be lonely, I will be the voice that draws you to life. Should you cry, I will be the shoulder to weep on and the arms to hold you tight. Should you be scared, I will be the blade that strikes out at your fears. Everything you need, anything you shall ever want, you shall find it in me."

With his speech complete, Jace removed a ring from his pocket; it was a perfect golden ring, inlaid with a single diamond. Along the band were the runes of love and promise, as well as the runes of the Herondale family. Jace slipped the band over her hand, tucking it into the place before her engagement ring.

The audience sighed collectively as Jace took Clary's hands in his, squeezed them, and then pulled her into a chaste kiss.

It seemed to Clary that time sped up and she was in the great hall. The dim light from the candles cast shivering shadows about the hall as the lords and ladies entered. The day had passed by in flashes of congratulations and pleasantries, and the moon had risen and its lights fell through the window panes, adding to the mysticism. There was music, slow graceful music that begged to be danced to and the lords and ladies about her were dressed in their very best. It was like a dream.

Clary jumped when Jace took her hand. "A first dance seems appropriate, my dear." She turned to face him and found that Jace was signaling to the musicians to strike a chord. "Unless, of course, you would like to sit this out and relax. It's been a long day, I understand-"

"No," Clary said quickly, smiling up at him. "I would very much like to dance with you."

Jace grinned down at her. "Then come into my arms," he said, and drew Clary onto the center of the floor for all the court to watch her.

The dream descended then for Clary, and she snuggled closer. This man, this perfect, handsome, glorious man in her arms was her husband. She was his wife, his closest companion, his to care for. Tightness closed up her throat and she thought she might just faint from the glorious elation, the knowledge that she was no longer in service to her father or brother, but to her husband. She had only to be loyal to Jace, which, she thought, was going to be such a freedom she had never known. For the last month she had lived in constant terror that Jonathan would try to end the engagement, but now she could breathe easy. She was even now, tucked in Jace's protecting arms.

The audience assembled watched the two twirl about, gazing at each other with nothing by the most burning affection they had ever seen. The men stared hungrily at Clary who looked like an angel dressed all in white. Her beaded bodice was laced tight to push her chest upward, almost so tight Clary couldn't breathe, and her skirt was layers and layers of fabric and metal bands. About her shoulders was a violet cloak trimmed in ermine, the color of the dukedom. She knew she looked impressive, beautiful, desirable, but she cared only so far that Jonathan knew. She wanted her brother to see her looking stunning and see her the most desired woman in the land, and know he could never have her. She smiled and then tossed her head back and laughed.

The women who were lining the floor followed Jace with their eyes. He looked rather stunning, the gold of his skin, hair, and eyes glowing in the candle light. His hair had been trimmed a little, just so it fell to his chin, and his clothing was perfectly refined, a mix of violet, trimmed in gold braiding. None of the women could turn their eyes from Jace, and found themselves shamefacedly drawn to the cut of his shirt, the press of his muscles against the fabric, the gold of his stunning eyes.

As the music ended, Jace dipped Clary back elegantly and then righted her, pressing her against him, up and down their bodies. Clary found herself staring into Jace's eyes, and she realized suddenly that the court, the ladies who envied her, the men who wanted to use her, the toils and schemes of the members, none of it mattered. As long as she had Jace the court would be bearable.

"How perfectly beautiful," Valentine announced, "I am so happy to have the Duke Herondale as an addition to my family. And I trust, you, Duke Herondale, are happy with your new wife."

Jace smiled swiftly. "I am most pleased and honored with your lovely daughter. She will make a most satisfactory Duchess Herondale. And of course, I trust I am the envy of all the men of the court." A few men nodded in assent. They would have been fools to do anything else.

Valentine tipped his head in response. "Then I wish you the best of luck with this marriage and my daughter."

Jace and Clary both felt a pressure on their lower backs and their spines bend under an invisible hand. It took but a moment for Jace to realize that Valentine was using his power over the runes to force Jace's will. He grit his teeth but allowed the pressure to remain until Valentine released him.

Once the first dance was over the court swarmed the floor. Some came forward to congratulate the happy couple, others took to dancing. The evening passed in flurry of well-wishers, music, singing, and the constant reminder that that night, Clary could go to bed safely, knowing that she now had someone with her who would watch over her.

"It's been a long day," Jace finally said, hugging Clary closer to him. "I know it's early, but both myself and the duchess are tired. We will retire now, but ask you all to continue celebrating in our honor and toast our happiness." Jace lifted his glace and drained it to applause. "Good evening."

Jace led Clary away, aware, not for the first time that evening, that Jonathan was watching him. They left the hall cheering and dancing and celebrating, and made their way slowly to Jace's room. Clary had never been in the Duke's chambers before, and was rather curious to see how the lower class lived.

"I hope the room is to your liking, my duchess," Jace said, bowing her into the chamber.

It wasn't that different from Clary's rooms, though maybe somewhat less spacious. The sitting room was warm and cozy, with a popping fire that illuminated the shelves on the opposite wall. They were mostly empty, and Clary thought her books would go nicely there. The stone floor had been covered as much as possible with rugs favoring twined string over animal pelts, and the couch and adjoining armchairs that were gathered around the fire looked new, and in need of some use. The windows let enough light in that during the days, candles would be highly unnecessary, and the view they offered was of the back lawns, and in the distance, a small inland lake. Clary passed Jace in her exploration; she had only ever seen hers, Jonathan's and her father's rooms. There was a definite feel of reduced stature, and Clary found that she adored it.

The bathroom, when she came upon it, was smaller than hers, but the tub, unlike hers was much larger and the rim had the intricate runes of the Angel on it. The floor was tiled in a pattern of a herons picking through pond grasses, and the walls had paintings of more water and animal depictions.

Clary returned to the main room, grinning like a child at Jace, who was watching her with bemused amusement. She rushed past him to the double doors opposite the bathroom and threw them open. It was the bedroom, as Clary had expected, and it was warm and toasty. Someone, Clary noticed, had stoked the fire up and shook out the rugs that covered almost every inch of the floor. The bed, however, was still unmade and looked like a perfectly comfortable nest, and she suspected Jace himself had been the one to stoke the fire and clean the rugs. She approached the bed carefully, running her fingers over the many blankets and sheets; she shivered against her will and turned away just as Jace entered the room after her. He couldn't miss the look of wariness that passed over her face only to be hidden away behind her challenging smile.

"Do you like your new rooms, my lady wife?" Jace asked.

"You know it's Clary," she said crossly. "Really, I'm not going to go through life calling you 'my lord husband' or 'the duke' or some other ridiculous name. You're Jace."

"Ah, well," Jace shrugged, "at least no one can say I didn't give propriety a chance."

"You should have known better, marrying me," warned Clary, but then laughed and crossed to the window to look out on the darkened lawns. "I think I will like it here, Jace. I will like being a Duchess-far more than I ever did a Princess. There is something so simple and so quaint about it. Yes, I like my new rooms."

Jace watched her, admiring the fine image she cut in the moonlight, the silver light glancing off the white of her gown and drawing the bright red out of her hair and leaving behind a rich mahogany. She looked like an angel. He joined her at the window, and Clary was acutely aware that she was standing beside a man who was her husband. She peeked at him from the side and saw the imposing problem he posed.

_Jace loves you enough,_ she murmured to herself. _He is a gentle soul, fierce yes, but gentle all the same. He won't hurt you; he's sworn to protect you. He said he would._

Clary reached out and clasped his hand in hers. "I think, though, it could use a few more books and little more of a woman's touch."

Jace spun Clary to face him and kissed her; as always, Clary melted into his arms, her body reforming to fit his. It was, for Clary, absolutely perfect; the feel of Jace's arms encircling her was all warmth and protection she needed. Carefully, with all the fabric he had to account for, Jace led to the bed, still keeping their lips together. Clary didn't even realize that she was sitting on the bed, Jace's arms on either side of her, until the kiss ended and Jace pulled away to look at her with wary eyes. When she noticed where she was, Clary gasped in surprise.

"I keep forgetting that it is my wedding night," she said with a laugh to calm her nervousness. She looked around her a little helplessly. "I suppose I still have my duties to perform."

Sharply, Jace drew a breath and took her face in his hands. "No, never a duty. You own me nothing, Clary, but, perhaps, your love. I would never ask more of you than you were willing to give."

"But I am willing to give you-to give you _everything_!" Clary exclaimed, taking his hands in hers. "I am being sentimental, that's all. Come, help me out of this dratted gown of mine." Clary rose in a flurry and stood before the fire, the fire sending heat and sense back into her numb mind. "I hate these things, really I do. I think the only thing I hate more is the bodice. If I could, I would go about in leggings and shirts, like a man." She laughed at the very thought, no matter how true it was.

Jace watched her, wondering. She was babbling again, not something horrible, but just something she did when she was nervous or scared. He rose carefully and joined her, placing one hand on her shoulder. "You're rambling again, Clary, but I love it. And, if it's your desire, you can ride all about Herondale Manor in a man's clothing-so long as I'm the only who gets to see you in something fitted." His smile, when it came, was devilish, and Clary smiled in returned.

"Get this thing off me," she urged, tugging at the skirt, "unless, of course, you want me to fetch Isabelle here to do it."

Jace laughed under his breath. "Please, Clary, if there's one thing I know, it's how to undo the laces of a corset." Clary turned to glare at him playfully, but Jace just kissed her cheek and worked the laces of her dress.

Between Jace and Clary, they managed to get Clary out of the layers of fabric and lace and down to her dressing gown. Though still rather heavy, Clary felt the weight lift from her shoulders in a wonderful rush. She rarely spent time out of her intricate gowns or heavy robes, and the feeling of soft, loose fabric swirling around her knees was beautiful. She reached up a hand to undo the pins in her hairs, but Jace beat her to it, his fingers tugging the pins loose carefully.

"Allow me, sweetheart," he said, and kissed the back of her exposed neck. Clary shivered under his fingers; every touch to her skin burned and tingled, and her heart started thumping madly in her chest, whether from fear or excitement she didn't know.

When Clary's hair fell down in a waterfall of red, she inhaled slightly. Clary turned and took Jace's hands in hers, tugging just slightly toward the bed. She wasn't a fool, she knew what was expected of her on her wedding night. "Are you tired? Would you like to go to bed?"

Jace smiled crookedly at her. "I'd love to go to bed, though I can't speak for the tiredness." He was wantonly provocative, hoping that it somehow might make Clary laugh; he saw the look in her eyes and knew that something else was on her mind. "Clary, what's wrong?"

Clary looked startled. "Nothing, Jace, nothing. I'm perfectly fine…just, could you put the lamps out?"

Jace could feel tension stringing through Clary's body, but her command was as strong as ever. As he turned away to turn the lamps down, Clary climbed onto the bed and settled under the covers. She pulled them up to her chin and waited anxiously for Jace to return, as she did, images stole across her mind, nightmares from the past, and fears of the future. When she felt the bed shift under Jace's weight, her stomach flipped.

Jace's hand found Clary's, and she felt him roll onto his side to look at her. Her heart leapt to her throat, but it was Jace's voice she heard next. "Clary, what is wrong? You're pulse is racing, your hand is clammy, and your shaking. Please, tell me, what is wrong?"

"It's nothing, Jace, just kiss me and-"

"No," Jace said sharply. "I did not marry you just so you could hide from me. I married you because I care for you, because I would have you trust me, and because I love you. You have to trust me to help you, to trust you with your problems."

Clary felt her mouth go dry. There was simply no way she could tell Jace. Too long she'd held it in, and too long she'd pressed it down, there was no way it could service now. _Besides, _Clary thought uselessly, _the marriage could be set aside all for my cowardice and shame._

"There is nothing," she said again, and Jace could hear the finality in her voice. However, he knew a lie when he heard it, and Clary was a poor liar.

Jace's hand ran up her arm, up to her shoulder and he pulled her in so she could the gold of his eyes. "I am no fool, Clary. I know when someone I love is hurting."

Clary watched him warily, picking at the strings on the blankets. "Perhaps I have no desire to share my worries."

"I must insist," he pressed again.

"And I must refuse." Clary sat up, but she was so much shorter than Jace that it didn't do much for her authority. "I promised my father-we both did, mind-that gossip and rumors and misbehavior would end with our marriage. I'm simply doing as my father ordered."

Jace frowned. "I can hardly imagine that anything you have to tell me will so upset him."

"Oh, yes it would," Clary said darkly. "It's best if the past is left well enough alone, and my fears with it."

"Stop it," Jace said sternly, and sat up too. "Stop evading me, stop lying to me. Tell me, please, what it is you're so worried about."

"Jace," Clary pleaded, "please, put it from your mind. I won't ruin everything just for this-"

"For what?" Jace exclaimed. "And how could you ruin everything? I assure you, I'm not about to put aside this marriage, not for your past, and certainly not for my life-which, I'll remind you, is currently caught up in this."

"You would put it aside," Clary said suddenly, drawing the blankets about her tightly. "You would put me out, and then my father would be furious, and my brother so pleased, and you would be as good as dead…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Jace snorted. "If there's one thing I'm not about to sacrifice, it's my life."

"Jace!" Clary snapped.

"Then tell me!" Jace snapped back. "I can't sit here, watching you turn away from me at every instance. You have to tell me, something, anything; just give me some hint."

Clary turned like a snake just as Jace had seen on many occasions. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and her lips pulled back, and for such a small girl, Jace was reminded of a wolf. "My brother is a monster," Clary said simply, as if it explained everything there was to say. Jace continued to stare at her, waiting for her to speak, but she just shrugged and looked down at her hands.

"I could have told you that, Clary," Jace smiled, but then stroked the hair off her face in the most comforting gesture he could. "He's threatened my life enough times."

"He's never threatened your life," Clary said after a beat.

"He wants me dead." Jace looked confused. "Trust me, every day he tells me that."

"No, he doesn't." Clary slapped his hands away in frustration. "Neither does my father. They always threaten you with some horrible punishment-most commonly my own. Now, since I'm not dead, what can you possibly think it is?"

For once, Jace was truly lost. He had been mulling over Clary for as long as he'd known her. When he'd been enslaved to her, he had considered her motives and her intentions, but now, as her husband, he was more concerned with her past. She had never seemed completely there, always partly in their world, partly in another. Jace suspected, like Isabelle, that that other place had its own beauties and tragedies, and he was just caught up in the aftershock of it all.

_What does she mean? _He wondered. _Her own?_

"Clary I could not begin to fathom what horrible things your family has visited on you," Jace murmured. "But if you're suffering I need to know."

"I would worry only for yourself now, Jace, since I'm more than safe under the name Herondale." Jace could tell Clary was avoiding her answer, but he took her chin and forced her to look at him. Her eyes were watering. "You must understand, I was only fifteen then, and I was too afraid of my father and brother to tell anyone…"

"Clary," here, Jace's voice was as soft as ever. "Whatever it is, I won't be mad. I would never betray you."

"Guard yourself," Clary said frantically. "You must understand, it's _you _now they will turn to punish. Please, as much as I can help you I will, but I'll have to hide behind your name now." When Jace simply nodded, Clary sighed and said, almost angrily. "It's no great secret among my family, even Magnus knows, as I often went to him after. Jonathan is not quite _sane_, and I suspect my father knows why, but he'll never say. I think that's why he indulges him, because he feels so much guilt, you see…" she saw Jace waiting patiently and knew she was babbling. "He was-or rather _is_-somewhat infatuated with me."

"He's your brother!" Jace snarled the moment the word escaped his lips. "That's revolting-"

"Please, hear me out." Clary placed her hand over Jace's mouth. "For the longest time Jonathan and I believed we were going to be-going to be married. Yes, I hated the thought, _despised_ it, but what was I supposed to do? My father's word is law, and as much as my father disagreed, he knew it was the only way to beget a child of the blood. Besides, as he reminded me often, marriage between siblings was common, even _expected _in ancient cultures. I suppose I just resigned myself to the idea."

Though she had tried to sound nonchalant, Jace could sense the burning shame and guilt that had been growing since her youth. It must have been eating at her for years. "Clary…it's not your fault."

"I didn't say it was," she replied sharply. "I'm not some helpless victim of chance. I accepted my fate with the dignity and respect that I could muster, and so sequestered my guilt away. I lived with the idea for years that I was going to end up married to my brother, so I simply put it from my mind and allowed what must to happen."

"What must?" Jace asked, suspecting, but not accepting, what might be the answer.

"Perhaps when I said that Jonathan was _infatuated_ with me was the wrong word. He certainly _wants_ me, and perhaps, once, he acted on his desires." It seemed that Clary had come to the point she didn't want to discuss, and her voice failed her. She seemed deflated, and slumped back in the cushions. "I didn't know what to do. My father simply ignored it, I couldn't tell anyone for fear of the shame it would bring, and my brother believed he had every right. I went to Magnus, of course, to make sure that, well, to make sure nothing ungodly had been begotten, and he saw to my medical condition."

Jace, however, wasn't listening to Clary's words. He was shaking with his fury, his eyes seeing nothing but the sneering face of Jonathan when he looked at Clary. "That's why you wanted the servants around you, wasn't it?"

Clary stirred in her depression. "What? Oh, yes, having someone with me all of the day, and most, if not all of the night, helped to dissuade Jonathan from coming here. When you came along, it was something of a godsend. Jonathan hated the idea of a man with me, especially one who could challenge him."

_It was her only way to reach out for help, _Jace realized, his heart breaking for her. _She could go to no one with the truth, so she hid behind her servants_. _It certainly explains her mood swings…the shock and trauma of the experience, suppressed for years, must have built up and expressed itself the only way it could. _

It was such a horrible thing, and such a miserable sight to behold. Clary, Jace knew, was a powerful woman. She had been raised a shadowhunter in the most dangerous court in the world. She had been educated and trained in every aspect of court and warrior life. To see such a woman slumped useless beside him, only fueled his rage more.

"You should have told me," Jace finally said, drawing Clary into his arms carefully. "I would have done anything I could to ease your pain. I swear, I would have given you _anything-_"

"It doesn't matter anymore, not about me, at least," Clary said, gazing up into his eyes in desperation. "Please, my father threatened you with _my _punishment. He meant this, Jace, he meant what my brother did to me."

Jace scooped Clary up and pressed her against his chest. "No, Clary, it doesn't. I don't know if you understand how that particular trade works but-"

"Don't patronize me, Jace," Clary murmured against his chest. "I've lived in this court long enough to know what goes on in the most inner circles of these lords. I've heard the whispers, the rumors, of the most rowdy men. Men who drink hard, play hard, who are out late nights and up till morning. _Trust me_, Jace, this court isn't the place everyone thought it was. Your mother was a wise woman to keep you back; I've heard the page boys were perhaps the most sought after…"

"That's revolting," Jace said, thinking back to his childhood and his mother's insistence that he stay in the country. "It's not that I've got something against two men as lovers, it's just…what you're suggesting is vile."

Clary nodded. "Yes, it is, which is why I'm begging you not to get involved with those men, and for the Angel's sake, don't anger my brother!" She once again looked up at him, and her fingers curled around the fabric of his nightshirt like claws. "Please, I don't think I could bear it if you were put through that."

Carefully, so as not to scare her anymore, Jace shuffled her in his arms so they could both lie down together, Clary tucked in his grasp. "Don't fear for me, little one. I've got enough to be satisfied with with you, let alone causing waves with your father for something. Please, just join me tonight so I can hear your heart, and sleep knowing I'm here."

Clary stirred. "It's our wedding night."

"Really, I hadn't noticed?" Jace laughed, plucking a strand of hair and twirling it around his finger. "What of it?"

"If it's not consummated…"

"Nonsense," Jace said, smiling crookedly. "Look at me, Clary, I'm absolutely gorgeous. I don't need some archaic law of marriage to get my wife in bed with me. No, I think I'll seduce my wife all on my own."

"Self-affirming, self-indulgent…" Clary muttered, but her heart was bursting with the news. She could feel herself slipping, for the first time, into a slumber that was worry-free.

"And you married me anyway," Jace murmured in her ear as he shifted Clary about so his arm was a pillow under her heavy head.

"Best mistake of my life," Clary replied, and slipped away.


	17. Married Bliss

Married Bliss

Valentine leaned back in his seat, his grey eyes following the paths of the demon hounds as they circled Jace. Possibly, it was an unfair fight. Jace, while formally trained exceptionally well, had very little real experience with actual demons. Valentine sighed, knowing that the failing in the education was partially his fault. He was the one who had chosen to wield the Soul Sword, had conquered the Downworlders, and obliterated the demons. With no demons to fight, the skills of the shadowhunters failed. Now, the hounds carefully closed in on the young man and he had little recourse for action.

They were excellent hell hounds, perhaps not as dangerous as Jonathan's three-headed beast, but certainly useful. They worked in unison, forcing Jace into a corner, regardless of how he sought an escape. Valentine admired the way one of the hounds darted forward, snapping at Jace's heels, only to push him back, never to bite. The other two would draw closer while Jace was distracted, cutting off his exits.

For all his helplessness, Jace still put up a good fight. Valentine noted how well he handled the knives in his hands, how he could swipe forward and dart back, the speed and accuracy of his movements, and the determination in the face of his own impending failure. It spoke to his education, which must have been rigorous and extensive, but at the same time, his failure spoke to his own pride.

_Well, I can certainly manage that. A few years under my rule and he'll be a perfectly obedient subject. _Valentine stirred uncomfortably. _A proper substitute for Jonathan…and the throne. _

The thought of his son brought on a wave of guilt Valentine hadn't experienced in years, not since he'd revealed the truth to Jocelyn. Since that day, Valentine had found a thousand validations for his actions, and, since he answered to no one, had long since pardoned himself. In his attempt to assuage his conscience, he had allowed Jonathan his _darker _fancies, and overlooked his crimes with a blind eye. Now, with Jace in the picture, it brought back to light his past and his own crimes.

_I was doing the work of the Angel,_ he thought bitterly. _I sacrificed my son for my war against the demons, and I was victorious. I conquered the beasts of hell, and how was I repaid by those I saved? The shadowhunters, those cowards too terrified of my brilliance, turned on me. They deserved their death._

With that thought, Valentine turned his attention back to Jace. He was up against the wall, swinging at each dog when it lunged at him. There was no way out now, he must have known this, and he looked up at Valentine. He was too proud to plead, but in his eyes was the question: call them off?

"Why have you stopped?" Valentine asked, his anger at the past fueling him now. "Did I tell you to?"

"Continuing at this point seems a rather hopeless endeavor," Jace pointed out coldly.

"And is that my fault?" Valentine's reply was sharp. "Your technique is poor, your skills wanting, and your pride over-bearing. You have gotten yourself in that corner, so get yourself out."

"And how would you suggest I do that?" Jace asked sarcastically.

Valentine rose up slowly, coming down the steps before him, taking his time while Jace withered against the wall. "You must learn to fight, boy. You see, you lack the skills of a true soldier: wisdom, patience, and, most importantly, _hubris_. Do you know what that is?"

Jace flushed. "To be humble."

"And you are most certainly not humble." Valentine stood before Jace, behind the hounds, and smiled at him. "You are an arrogant, unworthy whelp. I should have left you a slave in the stables. It would have been good for you."

Suddenly, one of the demons, tired of smelling Jace's sweet blood and not tasting it, leapt into the air at him. Jace threw up his arm, slicing the air with his blade. The edge made contact with the demon's face, but not before its teeth sank into Jace's forearm. A sharp pain raced up Jace's arm and he crumpled to the ground, clutching the jagged wound. The wounded hound fell back, whimpering and oozing black blood everywhere, but the other two, tasting the blood on the air, dove at him.

Jace instinctively covered his face, but he soon felt the fangs of the other demons tearing at his legs. "Call them off!" he snarled at Valentine.

Valentine, however, was content to let the demons do their work. "Why should I? I think it good for you, Jace, to feel the burn of your own pride. Does it hurt?"

Grinding his teeth, Jace debated telling him off, but one of the demons clamped down on his thigh, and the pain that laced up his spine was too much. "Alright, alright, it hurts! Do you hear me, _it hurts_!"

Valentine nodded and drew his own blade. In one swift motion he sliced through the hounds and they vanished in a black fog. Jace, lying on the ground, glared up at him, but Valentine just raised an eyebrow.

"I am your master, not your father." He took Jace by his hair and pulled him to his knees. "You're a poor excuse for a shadowhunter. Clearly, it was not just your mother that coddled you. I think we have much work to do before I allow you to claim the Blood of the Angel." He jerked his arm, snapping Jace head about. "You have two hours before the court arrives for breakfast. Go clean yourself off."

With that, Valentine tossed Jace to the floor and stalked off. Jace lingered on the floor a moment, rubbing his sore scalp, and then pulled himself tiredly to his feet. The walk back to his chambers was slow and careful. Though very few courtiers were up and about at this hour, the servants were out, stoking fires, opening windows, fetching water and coaxing the castle to life before the real day began. It was silent as he went, only his footfalls echoing about him, and the horizon was softening to a pale blue in the distance. When Jace reached his rooms, he cautiously removed his stele and drew the runes that would unlock the door.

The undisturbed peace of the castle did not extend to his rooms, as Clary had, since their marriage, made a point of rising with Jace and starting her day. When Jace entered, Clary was seated on one of the chairs wrapped in her dressing gown, a book open on her lap, and her feet tucked beneath her. A fire was stoked up, crackling in the grate. From the sounds of splashing, Jace guessed that Isabelle and her brothers were filling a tub with water for him. On the table was a small tray of food with fresh fruit, bread, cheese, butter, and slices of meat; Jace wondered how he had ever gotten on without such a woman as Clary in his life. She had taken to the responsibilities of a wife swiftly, and the last two weeks had been some sort of dream and nightmare mingled in one.

"Awake already?" Jace asked as he slouched in and slumped on the seat opposite her.

Clary looked up, closing the book with a snap. "I see no point in being in bed, unless you're there to share it with me; without it, I find the bed lonely and cold. Now, throw off your shirtsleeves and pants and go take a bath. Isabelle and Alec have prepared a hot wash for you, and Max has been warming your clothing." When Jace just leaned back and smiled at her helplessly, she tossed the book aside and rose, hands on hips. This only made Jace laugh. "Jace, you're impossible."

Jace reached out one hand for her, and with the other, patted his lap. "As I've said before, you agreed to marry me. Now, I won't go a step further till you join me in a kiss."

Though Clary wanted to see Jace into a bath, and then try out a healing rune, his lips were too tempting and that smile was too seductive. "Such a demanding man," she cooed, settling into his lap and allowing him to draw her into a slow kiss.

"Pity me, wife," he said, feigning pain, "for I've been up already two hours, and haven't spent them with you. I must make up for lost time."

"Well, I've given you your kisses and your time, now _please_, Jace, go bathe. I want to see if I can work a healing rune."

Jace rolled his eyes, but stood up, drawing Clary into his arm as he walked. "I never understood why a healing rune was a revolutionary idea to you. It was the first thing I was ever taught."

"Well," Clary said thoughtfully. "Do you really think Valentine would have ever taught me to heal? He thought the best lessons were the ones that remained the longest. My wounds healed with time."

Jace frowned in response, but then turned to her and kissed her. "It seems so cruel a world where a young woman must learn how to heal from her husband, and not at the hands of her parents. Certainly, your mother would have taught you." It wasn't a question, and Clary appreciated the respect he'd shown to Jocelyn.

"My mother was a loving woman, and a good wife. Had she not died, I think my father wouldn't have been the man he is."

Jace flinched away from the mention of Jocelyn's death; it had been a while since he had thought of Jocelyn and what Magnus had said. He wondered if Clary knew what Magnus thought. However, he knew now was not the time to broach the subject with her. "You are both excellent wives."

Clary turned to him with a dazzling smile. "Get in the bath, excellent husband."

Jace and Clary entered the bath where Isabelle and Alec were busy caring for the water. When the noticed the two, Isabelle rose in a flurry and made a polite bow. "I'll leave Alec here to care for your needs. Clary, come with me and I'll see if I can't get you into something charming for the summer day. Are you riding out today?"

Clary turned to Jace. "We did yesterday, so how about a nice turn or two about the gardens and then some games on the green. Maybe a picnic, something that will fill the day…" by the end he sounded dejected, and Clary knew he longed for the vital, salt-of-the-earth life he'd led on his Manor. The court was a poor excuse for the life he'd led.

"A lovely day dress then. Something that will look flattering in the light," Isabelle said decidedly. "Come with me, let us leave these men to their devices."

Clary lingered, watching Jace dip his foot into the water. She thought it very child-like and very sweet, and wondered, not for the first time, how she had ever been so lucky as to have been married to that man. "As you'll have it. I'm sure Father will be displeased if I don't arrive on time, looking my best."

Jace nodded and then shooed her off. Isabelle led Clary back to their bed chamber. For Isabelle, it was a much smaller place than Clary's old room, but somehow more cozy. She was still adjusting to the new surroundings, and found herself sometimes foolishly opening a chest of dresser drawers only to find the clothing of a man. Two weeks was not enough time to master the design of the room, so she tread carefully.

"What do you think of this?" Isabelle asked Clary, unfurling a burgundy gown, with pearl beading and gold lacing over the shoulders. "I think it'll serve nicely for a day out and about. Also, the red with flatter your complexion I should think."

Clary eyed is speculatively, but new Isabelle had chosen something lovely. "Why not? Could you put my hair up as well? An intricate bun might be absolutely perfect for the day."

"Of course," Isabelle said, bowing, and then took Clary away to dress her. It took a few minutes with the dressing gown, underskirt, and the lacing of the dress itself. When Isabelle escorted Clary to the mirror to sit and have her hair done, she hummed gently. "You look beautiful."

"I second that." Clary glanced up in the mirror, and Jace was there, his skin scrubbed and faint gold, his hair still damp on the ends and hanging in his eyes. "I see I will have to accept my spot in the shadows of your beauty again."

Clary shot him a sideways smile. "So long as you're on my arm, you'll have all my light."

"I will be blinded," he said, keeping up the word play.

"Good," Clary said and stood, giving herself a coy look in the mirror. "You'll be blind to the rest of those peacocks that flaunt themselves." She winked at Isabelle and then summoned Jace to her side with a turn of her head.

"So demanding, my wife," Jace said to Isabelle.

"You're hurt," Clary said blankly, and removed her stele from her drawers. "Let me see your back."

Isabelle watched curiously as Clary carefully cut into Jace's skin. She had seen Clary and Jace both at work a few times with the blade, but had always wondered how they could suffer cutting themselves. But then, a part of Isabelle was intrigued; she had known that words were important for daily life, but to think that words alone could give power over the flesh was mind-boggling. She glanced quickly at her hands, wondering if a normal person could learn such a skill, or, if maybe, you had to be born gifted.

"How does it feel?" Clary asked as she finished the rune. "Is everything back in place?"

Jace made a point of buttoning his shirt and then placing her hand in his. "Now it is."

The court was buzzing now, and Clary and Jace found themselves the center of attention as usual. Since their marriage, the court had watched them carefully, wondering just how soon Clary would begin to lace the bodice of her dress looser. However, since Clary had shown no signs of a child, and Jace had made no comment to his gentlemen fellows, the court had settled for admiring their affection. Jace had proven to be what most ladies considered the perfect example of what a husband ought to be. He was constantly attentive to Clary, often preferring her company to that of the men. He would often be found with her, listening while she sang for him in her chambers where the ladies spent their days. Or, Clary would rest her head against his shoulder, their hands entwined while he read her favorite books. Sometimes, they would be found playing cards or dice, and their favorite haunt was the garden paths, where many of the courtiers would find them walking hand in hand, murmuring secretly to each other. The ladies were jealous of the smile Clary could draw from Jace effortlessly, and the men envied Jace the lovely woman who followed him everywhere.

"My dear, Clarissa," Valentine announced when she entered on Jace's arm. "You are looking abloom this day. So fresh and…rosy."

A few of the women glanced up, wondering if her father knew something that they didn't. After all, a rosy complexion was the sure sign of a pregnancy. Clary merely smiled brilliantly and laughed, winking roguishly at Jace.

"Am I looking rosy, Jace?"

"You glow like the sun," he said, smiling, challenging her to answer him just as provocatively.

"Is that why you moon after me?"

"True," Jace said, looking around at the men, "I follow your trail like the moon does the sun. I would follow you about the world, content just to feel the grace of your light once a month, were that all you were willing to give."

A few women sighed, but Clary smiled triumphantly. "I suppose that's all a woman can possibly ask for in her husband. That, and a comfortable seat for my weary feet."

"Then come along, Clary," he said, and swung her away just as Jonathan entered. He shot Jace a furious look when he saw Clary looking so perfect on his arm, but then turned and joined his father at the high table.

Breakfast for Clary had become a bearable event, even enjoyable. She sat now with Jace, between him and another quiet spoken lady, Anne, the daughter of a less prominent duke, who was shy in her young age, thirteen. Clary liked to talk to her, since she kept her silence well and wasn't a gossip. She supposed that would change in a year or two when the girl realized just how powerful her inheritance was, but for now, she served as a good confidante. Most important, though, was that Clary was no longer seated beside her brother, and she felt she had escaped his shadow.

"These berries are wonderful, don't you think, Anne?" Clary asked, holding up a spoon to her eyes. "They're as fresh as if they've been picked today."

Anne studied Clary's face first before speaking, knowing enough about Clary's position in court to treat her with respect. "They are, milady. I've heard strawberries are good for the complexion."

"If I were you, I wouldn't worry about it," laughed Clary.

Anne flushed. "Thank you, milady."

"You're certainly in a good mood today, Clary," Jace murmured in her ear. "Some good news?"

Clary slipped her hand into his. "No, but Jonathan is watching, and I want him jealous."

Jace grinned devilishly. "You should have said as much." And then he promptly kissed Clary on the lips. "Your lips taste like berries." A few of the women opposite the happy couple frowned, and a few of the men turned their eyes down, not knowing where else to look. It was Jonathan, of course, who made of point of being blind to their kiss.

"Fresh as a summer morning," Clary responded.

"Speaking of," Jace said, glancing out the window. "I think we should prepare for the day out, yes?"

Clary started. "Oh, yes, I think that would be ideal. I want to spend the entire day in the sun, so we must have a full day ahead of us."

Jace and Clary finished their breakfasts quickly and asked if they might take their leave early as the sun was peaking up over the tree tops and the day was dawning bright and warm even in the final days of summer. It would soon be fall and the warm, long days would turn to bitter cold nights and Clary and Jace wouldn't be able to spend their time outdoors. Clary thought on this as they left the hall and as she changed into more appropriate shoes in her room, she mentioned it.

"What will we do, Jace, when we're trapped indoors for the fall and winter? How will we spend our time?" Clary paused and then asked the more pressing question, "How will stay away from Jonathan?

Jace smiled sharply. "Well, I suppose we'll just spend our time here, won't we?"

"In this room?"

"Well, I'm sure between the both of us we'll find something to do," he laughed.

Isabelle, who had been sent to fetch Clary a parasol, returned and blushed when she heard Jace's words. Clary saw the flush on Isabelle's face, and spoke. "What are blushing for, Isabelle? Winded already?"

"No, no, it's nothing, Clary." She proffered the parasol with a bow. "I really should tend to this room, it's a dreadful mess. Two weeks is hardly enough time to set this place to rights. Your things need to be organized before I make more of a fool of myself in this room."

Clary raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to stay inside? I can insist on having my servant out with me."

"No, I think I'll stay indoors. I would very much like to practice my reading, maybe hem my clothing-" Knocking on the door interrupted Isabelle's words. She turned to the door and stared apprehensively. When the knock came a little louder, more insistent, Isabelle glanced at Clary. "Would you like a guest?"

"I can't see why not," Jace shrugged.

Isabelle bowed and opened the door. There, waiting impatiently was Maia; she narrowed her eyes at Isabelle playfully. "About time, Isabelle; when you told me you wanted me to teach you proper etiquette, I thought you'd be a little more prompt." Maia gradually took notice of Jace and Clary sitting and staring, but she just cocked her hip and stared back. "And what is the happy couple up to these days? Don't think I have forgotten, Jace, your little struggle a month ago and the part we played in it. Feel up to paying me back?"

Jace smirked. "I always pay my debts," was all he said. "Clary, shall we take the air?"

As Clary and Jace left, Clary shot Isabelle and Maia a strange look. When the door closed with a snap, Isabelle sighed loudly. "I didn't mean for you to burst in while my lady was still here!"

Maia laughed easily. "I was unaware you had freedom of the schedule you keep. Besides, I have duties of my own to perform, and this was the only time I could find."

Isabelle spun away, shaking her head. "_I didn't want Clary to know I was asking for lessons_!"

"Why ever not? I don't think the Duchess cares overmuch what her slaves do." Maia saw the flustered look on Isabelle's face. "Oh, don't cry, Isabelle! I didn't mean to embarrass you, I swear. I just came when only I could."

Isabelle felt her lips tremble all the same. "She already thinks I'm an ignorant farm girl running around on borrowed time."

"She taught you to read!" Maia protested. "She wouldn't have done that if she thought you were silly."

"She was just ashamed of having an illiterate servant," Isabelle sighed. "I just wanted to be better at everything, better at being a lady…"

Maia frowned in thought. "What difference does it make, really, if you're a lady or not? I hardly behave like one, and I've got an education."

Isabelle seemed agitated. She turned away, clutching at her soiled work gown and running her hands through her stringy hair. "I thought-maybe-if I acted more like a lady, she might-well, she might make me a maid rather than a slave."

Maia's eyes widened in surprise, but she managed to keep her mouth shut tight. It seemed that Isabelle was very uncomfortable with the situation, and was treating it as something very delicate. "Well, Isabelle, it's not necessarily in Clary's right to make you a maid. Your people were enslaved under the throne, it's not as if she can just promote you…" She saw the look in Isabelle's eyes, and then she snapped her teeth together. "Alright, I can understand why you want your freedom, but why now? Why this sudden, urgent desire to be a maid?"

Isabelle paused, thoughtful, and then shrugged helplessly. "I don't know if I can explain this or not, but I'm afraid Clary is going somewhere soon, and, well, it's something Magnus said to me-and it's been bothering me a while." She looked wanly over at Maia, wondering if she would just laugh at her. "He said, _don't worry about where to run to, you won't be running away_, and it sounds like if there's going to be a war, my brothers and I are going to be left behind."

Maia, who was closer to Magnus than Isabelle guessed, waved a hang vaguely. "There's no call to go talking of war. I guarantee you no one is planning a war against Valentine."

"But that's what Magnus said! He said that this wasn't going to be a war fought with weapons-"

"Now that's nonsense!" Maia said loudly, speaking over Isabelle's words. "What type of war can be won without a weapon? Don't be silly. Valentine is as set on his throne as ever, and no rabble is going to unseat him."

"All the same," Isabelle said determinedly, wondering at Maia's strange insistence that Magnus was just speaking nonsense, "I would feel more comfortable if my value was more than that of a slave."

Maia sighed. _No matter what I teach you, it won't make you a player in this war, _she thought, but smiled all the same. "Alright, alright, I understand. No one likes to be left behind, even if from some lessons from mother to daughter. Come over to the table and we'll start."

* * *

><p>Out on the lawns, Clary was taking the air with Jace, strolling along the garden paths. While they had close company she spoke of nothing but fashion and horses and books, always keeping her thoughts sweet and pleasant, and Jace kept up the steady stream of intelligent conversation and witty, charming compliments. But, once their entourage had left them, their pretenses fell. They both were beginning to feel the weight of the court on them. For Clary, who was used to the constant watching eyes, listening ears, and gossiping mouths, it was more bearable; but for Jace, this life was wearing him thin. He was growing to hate the constant chatter the court required of him. If it were up to him, he would take Clary away that day and head for the country.<p>

"This is place is becoming unbearable," he murmured softly to Clary. "I really don't think I can stand one more conversation about the state of the silk industry. I don't know how you did it for so long."

Clary shrugged. "I didn't. Until you came along, I was a recluse. However, I know how to smile and nod when the occasion calls for it. Something I don't think you've quite mastered yet."

"Pity my, yes?" Jace turned to her, his eyes wide and pleading.

Clary felt her lips turn up. "And if I do?"

"Then once we finish our walk about the garden, a game of bowls, and stroll down to the pond, you will come with me up to our rooms and you will pity me there instead." Jace's eye remained wide, but Clary could feel his smile coming on.

"I suppose I could extend my compassion to our rooms," Clary said, turning her face to his in time to see the crooked smile slide over his face.

"How perfect, I was hoping your passion might find its way there."

"I said _com_passion," Clary protested.

"Really? I hadn't heard, but then, I'm told I have selective hearing. Regardless, I will hold you to what I heard."

Clary shook her head but heard herself laughing all the same. "Perhaps you ought to ask a doctor about that."

Jace pointed suddenly. "Well, here's a doctor now. How timely."

Sure enough, Magnus Bane was approaching them, trailed closely by a page boy who was watching him carefully, pointedly not staring at his clearly exotic features. When Magnus saw them, something in his eyes flickered, and he shooed the boy away. He waved them over, and made a point of sequestering himself in a private part of the garden, walled in on all sides by high bushes. Clary and Jace exchanged a look and then joined him.

"I was hoping I might run into you," Magnus said without preamble. "Your father had been asking after you, Clary. Some delicate matters, I might mention."

Clary's face darkened. "Of course he has, and what have you told him?"

"You know my feelings toward the King," Magnus said with a wave. "He's no favorite of mine, you, however, are always interesting, and a bit more bearable. I have told him nothing of your health that he might glean information from. I take it you are keeping something from him?"

The laugh Clary spat out was bitter. "Yes, keeping his greedy hands off my son."

"You're with child?" Magnus asked sharply.

"No, though the Angel knows the court is waiting for one," Jace said, drawing Clary against him. "I have no intention of my son being raised by Valentine."

Magnus looked between the two of them. "I'm glad to hear it, these are tumultuous times…"

"Whatever do you mean, Magnus?" Clary asked, curious. "The most disconcerting thing I've heard of late is the silk shortage."

"It's certainly nothing you would have heard, my dear." Magnus looked about them suddenly. "May I call on you later today? There are some things I'd like to speak with you about, now that you're married and all, it makes things much easier. Around mid-day, yes?"

"I can't see why not," said Clary, glancing at Jace who was staring at Magnus.

"Yes," Jace agreed. "Mid-day would serve well. What is this about?"

Magnus smirked. "You and your wife seem to be constantly at the heart of things, young Duke, just because the country is in upheaval doesn't mean that would change."


	18. The Plight of the Desperate

******There are some mature themes and content in this chapter. Also, I have two exams next week and will probably dedicate most of my weekend to studying for them, so the next chapter might come a little later than usual, however, I will do my best to post another! **

The Plight of the Desperate

Isabelle poured tea for Magnus, mindful of his eyes that lingered on her, not with desire, but with curiosity. It was as if he found her intriguing only in the sense that she was not like him. He watched her shaky movements, how she handled the pot with extreme delicateness. He found it slightly amusing, but, overall, just intriguing that she was taking such care with his cup.

"Well, I won't mince words with your two, we're in a delicate spot as of now, and the royal family is at the heart of it," began Magnus, sounding glum. "Valentine needs to assert his dominance over the throne, settle disputes, and establish the royal line. I would assume he needs you two for that?"

"He wants my son in place of the one Jonathan would have," Clary said swiftly. "He said my son will be next in line for the throne."

"I thought as much. Jonathan will never have a queen," said Magnus. "This puts you in a delicate position now."

"How so?" Jace asked. "I understand we have Valentine's eye on us, but that doesn't mean we're in more danger than before."

Magnus glanced about him, eyeing the door to Clary's room. "I suppose you were going to have to know this soon enough; I had thought once you were married to Jonathan I would have to tell you, just to keep you safe, but having Jace here changes things." Magnus shot him a speculative look. "There's a movement against Valentine."

"That's not surprising," Jace said blankly. "I hate him, so I can only suppose there are others who do."

"A movement against the throne, I should say. Many people think that removing the royal family might resolve the chaos this country is in. You realize, Clary, that you are a member of the royal family, though you have married into Herondale. You and your son could still claim the right to throne, a Morgenstern could still sit upon the throne of this land."

"Then what are you suggesting?" Clary asked. "I am trapped in this court."

"People want to kill you before you can procreate." Magnus held up his hand before Jace could protest. "I'm sure you would protect her, and I'm sure the people of your land would love her, but the courtiers are restless, the men here, your peers. You must get Clary away from here, far enough away that it will be safe to speak freely."

"Speak freely of what?" Clary cut in. "I was under the impression we were speaking freely already. What more is there to say on this matter?"

"The courtiers are not the only ones who seek the removal of Valentine, Clary," Magnus sighed. "There are other forces at work here, and it is to them who I serve. However, if Valentine were ever to know of their existence, he would not stop until they were eradicated. He would murder the baby in your belly if he thought it would side with them." Clary's hand fluttered to her belly. "You need to be far away from here, far enough away that when you leave for good, Valentine will have lost you."

"We can't just up and leave," Jace cut in, "Valentine made it very clear that Clary and I were not going anywhere. He knows if we have a half a chance we'd run."

"You need to go," Magnus pressed. "Do you have land in the far country? Somewhere far enough away that it would take a good horseman a week to get or receive a message?"

Jace thought for only a moment. "Yes, it's on the borders of Idris, though. I went there only with my father to hunt; it's no place I would like to take my wife."

However, Magnus's eyes were gleaming, like he was thinking. "No, this is good. You should get far away from the castle. Go off into the wilds."

"I'm not taking Clary on some scouting trip in the woods!"

"Jace," Clary said sternly. "I'm made of tougher stuff than I look. By the Angel, I've lived with Valentine and Jonathan for my entire life!"

"I'm not suggesting it," Magnus muttered, as if he hadn't heard Jace and Clary speak. "Take her out there, and then we can get you two away. You can just slip away before anyone knows you've gone. Plus, travel in another land is much safer for you than by the roads of Idris."

"A lovely plan, Magnus," Clary said, "but still, one flaw: Jace and I can't leave."

Magnus waved his hand at her. "That's easily enough solved. We just need a valid reason for you and Jace to leave."

"If you've got a valid reason for us to leave, I'd love to hear it," Jace said sarcastically.

The smile that curled Magnus's mouth was much more thoughtful than Clary expected. "I'm a doctor, you know, and there is one thing, one thing above all else, the royal physician is trained to recognize and diagnose."

"Boredom?" Jace offered, earning him a small smile from Clary who was clearly distressed.

Magnus shot him a nasty look. "A pregnancy."

"What?" Clary and Jace said together.

"Listen, I don't frankly care if you're with child or not, all that matters is that Valentine thinks you are. I can tell him that the city air is bad for you, that it's not helping your constitution one bit, that there's a whiff of plague going around, and that I urge him to send you to the country at once. And, as Jace is your husband, he can have you sent off to whichever of his manors he sees fit." Magnus smiled triumphantly. "Valentine wants a child from you, so it'll be his fear for his own hopes that will encourage him to see you off."

"I don't want to leave Jace here," Clary said at once. "But Valentine won't let the two of us leave together. He'll see at once what we're up to."

"You won't have to," Magnus returned before Jace could add his complaints. "I'll be accompanying you, of course, and we have enough willing agents who work here to escort Jace by a different road to safety. By the time Valentine realizes what happened, it will be too late."

Clary shared a look with Jace before speaking. "I'm not particularly fond of leaving Jace, even for so short a time. I don't know what will happen while I'm not there."

"What could happen?" Magnus asked. "What worse could Valentine do with you not here, than with you here? I don't mean to offend, my dear, but you're not a deterrent to your father's will."

"It doesn't sit well with me either," Jace murmured. "I trust you, Magnus, but I don't like the idea of Clary being taken from me."

"You don't have many options," growled the doctor. "You are in a delicate situation, and making a run for it, won't help you now. You can't outrun Valentine's hounds, of that, I'm sure. This is the best way to make a clean break of it."

"I don't think-" began Jace, but Clary spoke over him.

"He might be right, Jace," Clary said. "As much as I don't like it, as much as I would have you with me, this may be the only way to escape."

Jace turned to Clary. "How can you expect me to just let you leave? When I have seen you suffer without my protection, I am loathe to remove it now."

"I'll have Magnus with me," Clary said promptly. "He'll be an excellent guard. Not to mention Luke."

Jace frowned, never having truly liked the dog. "Well, that hound certainly serves his purpose well." Jace turned gravely to Magnus. "Your word that you'll protect her?"

Magnus looked affronted. "You've got some nerve boy. I've been protecting her before you were born."

Jace flashed him a smile. "I had to ask."

"You'll tell Valentine I'm with child, will you?" Clary piped up, flushing a little. "I'm not, but I can certainly fake it."

Now, Magnus looked away uncomfortably. "I can diagnose pregnancy given symptoms, I can recommend treatments given the illness, but I can't actually be the one to check it. If you understand."

"No, actually, I don't," said Clary sharply.

Magnus leveled Clary with a straight stare. "I am a man, and it is the feeling of the court and the squeamishness of the people who won't allow a man to inspect a woman so intimately."

"Then what are you saying?" Jace asked, sensing Clary's discomfort.

"A maid, most likely midwife, will be the one to check you," Magnus explained. "Again, she will report to me her findings, and as long as you tell her you've been suffering sickness in the morning, painful belly cramps, and a missed monthly cycle, she should tell me you're pregnant…"

"She should, you said," Clary began, curious. "Why would she _not _tell you that I'm pregnant?"

Again, Magnus seemed uncomfortable with the subject, and heaved a sigh before continuing. "I know you, Clary. I know you're past, and so, I can make certain judgments about you. I can safely assume that you're not over fond of a man's touch, and, while it's certainly not your fault, it leaves us with a problem."

"Which is what?" Clary snapped, but when she looked to Jace, she saw he was pale.

"A woman can't be with child if she's never lain with a man," Magnus said simply. "I take it you and Jace didn't…_consummate_ your marriage?"

Clary realized at once how foolish she had been. She burned bright red and shot an apologetic look to Jace. He offered her a brave smile in return and took her hand. "I would never force anything on my wife she didn't want, including myself."

"Noble sentiment," Magnus huffed, "but useless. No midwife will believe that Clary is pregnant."

"But-but I _have _been with a man…" Clary stuttered, her blush now traveling down her neck and chest. "Jonathan, he forced me into his bed countless times; that must count for something, yes?"

"That was a long while ago, Clary, and that, poorly done." Magnus shook his head. "It would not be the same as if you and Jace been together recently."

"Then what do we do?" Jace asked, relieving Clary of her shame. "Do we pay the midwife off?"

"No, not possible," Magnus said gruffly. "She's been here all most as long as I have, and is truly loyal to Valentine." With a heavy sigh, Magnus turned to Clary and took the measure of her. He had known her to be both brave and strong, a woman made of steel. She would have to be in a family like hers. Besides, she _loved_ Jace more than she knew. Perhaps she was up to a challenge. "Clary, I wish there was more time for you, but we unfortunately live in a world where time to mature and grow strong isn't always possible. Can you bring yourself-for one night-to lay with your husband?"

Jace was the first to object, jumping to his feet and snarling viciously that he would _never_ hurt her. It was charming, Clary thought, that he felt so strongly for her. He continued to yell at Magnus, gesturing angrily at her, and then telling her over and over again that he would never expect her to go through with it. That he would find another way fool the midwife. That she needn't worry.

"But I'm not worried," Clary said simply, and smiled at him with all the warmth she could muster. "I trust you, Jace. My life hasn't been easy, not in a long time, and before you came into it, I think I had died. It was the only way to protect myself from everything and everyone, and then you came along. I guess a part of me still lived, I'd just been waiting for someone who could bring it out of me."

"Clary," Jace said, a warning in his voice, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You think I'd let you?" Clary returned. "No, this is my choice, and I expect you to go along with it."

"It might be your choice, but you're making it for the wrong reasons," Jace sighed, and he really did look sad for her. "However, if you're set by it, I won't turn you away."

"I should hope not," Clary said, and her eyes danced, drawing Jace out of his stupor. "Or, it would appear I made a rather poor choice in husband. Most men leap at the chance to get their wives in bed, all but one kind, that is."

Jace's lips quirked up. "Of all the things you can be certain of, it is that I would always _leap _at that chance."

"Must I be here for this _enchanting _word play?" Magnus moaned.

"No, you can go," Jace said curtly.

"I haven't finished my tea yet, young Duke, and you do want to be a good host, don't you?" Magnus sipped his tea pleasantly. "Do us favor, will you, Jace, and call for your servant boy, Alec."

"Any particular reason why?" This time, though, it was Isabelle. She had been sitting a bit away, quietly listening to the conversation, but, as Maia had suggested, she should be constantly aware of them in case they needed something. "I can just as easily fetch him, but why do you want to see him?"

Magnus gave Isabelle the same amused look as before. "No particular reason, he's just a pretty boy, and I admire pretty things." Isabelle continued to stare, her face giving away nothing. Magnus sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, I want to make sure his wounds healed over nicely, that there's been no lasting infection. I'm a thorough man."

Isabelle nodded and shot a glance over at Clary who waved her to the door. Once she was gone, Clary stirred thoughtfully. "Magnus, I was telling Jace about the court's current situation concerning…certain men. I don't think he quite believes me."

Magnus raised an eyebrow at Clary and then slowly considered her words carefully. "I'm not surprised you've been spared the gruesome details. You spend most of your time here with Clary. If you joined the gentlemen folk in their nightly brawls you might see this court differently."

Jace, who had been more consumed with Clary's admission to love making, jumped when Magnus brought the topic around. He had since put the idea from his mind and had forgotten Clary's warning. "You can't be serious. I indulged Clary, she's my wife after all, and she has every reason to believe in such a thing, but you should know better."

"I do know better," Magnus said darkly. "Clary is not being hysterical, Jace. You must be wary now, for more wary than before. Jonathan is going to be furious with you when you announce Clary's pregnancy. He'll be seeking his revenge."

Jace smirked. "Ah, jealously, is it? Wishing he could have Clary's place with me?"

"This isn't a joke, Jace," Clary urged. "My brother isn't to be trifled with; he's worse than Valentine."

"Clary, I'll admit that this court is a corrupt revolting place, inhabited by the most disgraceful lords, but I can't believe that any of the men here would consider-"

"Believe it," Magnus cut across him. "Guard yourself, Jace; you don't completely understand Jonathan. You would not put it past a rational man, but Jonathan is no _rational man_."

Though Jace wanted to brush it off, something in Magnus's voice unsettled him, and, more importantly, Clary was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. He was tired of seeing that look in her eyes. "Alright, I'll keep a watchful eye on my better peers, and, most assuredly, Jonathan."

Clary meant to say thank you, but then the door opened, and Isabelle came in with Alec at her side. When Clary spotted the warlock on the couch, he blanched, and then, to the surprise of many, blushed faintly. Clary thought the color suited his features well; his fair skin seemed to glow with it, and his dark blue eyes seemed even darker. Magnus was looking elsewhere, though, and didn't notice the flattering blush.

"Magnus, I brought my brother," Isabelle said, pushing Alec forward. "He wants to check your wounds," she shot at him.

Magnus turned his green, cat eyes on Alec. "Yes, yes, I thought I'd make sure there was no blood poison. Come here, boy."

While Magnus inspected Alec, Jace sat and talked to the young man. He found he enjoyed Alec's company; that he was a true man, one born in the country and raised in good soil and soft grass. Isabelle drew Clary away and began to dress her for the evening. As she braided her hair and pinned it up, she spoke.

"You should have told me, milady, about Jonathan." She felt Clary stiffen under his fingers.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Isabelle," she said coldly.

"You said you had been in your brother's bed." The words were measured and careful. "I've seen you two fight. I've seen how he watches you and how you run from him. It's a horrible thing he did, and you should have told me."

Clary laughed bitterly. "And what might you have done?"

"I wouldn't know, but I wish you would have told me." Isabelle finished her hair with a flourish. "We would have found a way to keep you safe."

"There was no way, Isabelle, not till Jace came along." Clary rose, and her voice, when she spoke, was final. "I am safe behind his name, safe in my marriage."

* * *

><p>Dinner seemed to drag painfully for Clary, who kept thinking back to her decision with Jace and Magnus. The memories of Jonathan had haunted her for years, the thought of his eyes devouring her, his hands holding her down, and his lips, furious and demanding on hers, had been like a living nightmare. She had learned to live in constant fear of her brother, and dread the day her marriage to him would be made real. Now, though, the realization was setting in that those fears weren't going to be made real. She was now wondering what the evening could hold, anticipating it even.<p>

As she turned in his arms that evening, Clary had peeked down the length of Jace. She could admire him, truly admire him, as a man. It was strange that for so long, she had feared men, had told herself again and again that their attention was bad, that her life could be happily lived without them. Now, looking at Jace, she realized it was that her live could happily be lived without _most _of them. However, this one, the one she was married to, was the man she couldn't live without.

Now, as she waited for her father to call an end to dinner and allow the cards and games to proceed, she tapped her foot. "Try not to come off as anxious. Ladies will talk," Jace said under his breath, keeping his eyes on the high table.

"I just want to get away from here." Clary followed Jace's gaze to the high table and found Jonathan had his eyes on her. She saw the raw desire in his eyes, and she turned away, shivering. It wasn't that she was unaccustomed to it, it was just that Jace's presence had made her forget quite of terrible she felt when her brother looked at her.

As if he sensed her desire, Valentine rose and announced the dismissal of the meal. Men were up at once, cards and dice in hand, but Clary and Jace rose, already heading for the door. It was Jonathan who noticed and called them back.

"And where are my brother and sister off to so early?" he asked, the men around him all turning to face them. "I would think you'd like to spend time this evening with the gentleman, Jace, since you were sequestered with the women all day."

"My wife is not feeling well, and I would be a poor husband if I sent her away alone while I spent the rest of the night with such fine company." It came out smooth, and the women listening preened, though the men narrowed their eyes. "Perhaps another night."

Though Jonathan looked ready to argue, Valentine's cold grey eyes swept over Clary, seeking something. "No need to hold them back, Jonathan. If your sister is unwell, we will not keep her. On your way," Valentine said, waving them away, but keeping his eyes fixed on Clary.

Jonathan stared after them as they left. In the hall, Clary clung close to Jace, trying to acquaint herself with the idea of his body. Jace realized at once what Clary was going after, and wrapped his arm around her to draw her in closer. He knew how painful this must be for her, and was seeking every way he could to make her more comfortable. When they reached their rooms, Jace spun Clary about to face him; her eyes were wide and searching, he could see how she was pressing her lips together nervously.

"This doesn't have to be this way," Jace said. "You know it doesn't. We can find another way, any other way, not like this. You know I would never force you to-

"I know," Clary said at once, pressing her hand against Jace's lips. She had to do this now, else she lose her nerve. "I know you would wait forever if it's what I asked, and that's why I can bear this now. Knowing you'd wait, that's good enough."

Jace felt his heart flutter, and then pulled Clary into the room. Isabelle had made herself conveniently busy with Magnus and Maia, and Luke had been taken with her. Before she had gone the fire had been stoked up to burn to warm their bedchamber, the blankets had been drawn back invitingly, and dressing robes were hung on the chair by the fire. Clary smiled at the thought of Isabelle tidying to the room, and laughed when Jace caught her about the waist and pulled her against his bare chest.

She could feel his hands working with the strings of her gown, and giggled when he said, "Damn lace's; I assure you, a women must have thought of this. Some, spinster women who never knew the love of a man…"

Eventually, Jace worked Clary out of the dress of and drew her to the bed. Clary felt Jace's lips on her neck, his hands on her shoulders, and, to her surprise, her own hands grasping at his back, her nails digging in. She pressed herself against Jace, forcing the shadows in the back her mind away, forcing herself into the moment. At one point, Jace laid Clary back on the bed and leaned over her.

"Clary, I'll stop if you want me to."

Clary paused, thinking on his words, and then smiled up at him. "No, no I don't think I want you to stop."

* * *

><p>It could have been minutes later, it could have been hours later, it could have been days later for all Clary cared. She lay curled in Jace's arms, watching the moonlight pour through one of the windows, and thought back on the events of the evening. It was like watching herself from a distance, like everything happening was being done to another woman, and she was just watching.<p>

She could remember Jace laying her back, and then he was leaning above her, resting all his weight on his forearms. She had looked up into his golden eyes and seen them darken with his desire. Before she could think on it, she'd reached up and pulled his lips down to meet hers. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on it relentlessly. She had that inexorable feeling that if paused for even a moment her thoughts might catch up with her and she'd pull away.

But she didn't. Jace had responded to her, one of his hands trailing up her leg and resting perilously on her knee before moving up. Clary could remember hearing her own gasp, hearing Jace's seductive laugh, and then the pounding of their hearts. Again, before she could think much of it, Clary had reached down and locked her fingers around the hem of his pants, pulling him down on top of her.

That was where Clary's memories failed her. She could only recall the terrible feeling that swam up before her. It was like a black abyss had opened up, filled with all her nightmares. She could see Jonathan, feel his vice like grip on her wrists, and the horrible pan and shame that accompanied that memory. For a moment, she thought she would topple into the abyss, she thought she would plunge forward into the darkness and no one could pull her out.

Clary had reacted instinctively, her hands clamping down on Jace. She clung to him desperately, terrified that if she let go for a moment she would fall. Clary could remember Jace holding her just as tightly, and knowing that if she didn't let go, the darkness that had haunted her would go away.

So she clung to him. Through it all, through all the terror, pain, and the exhilarating feeling of liberation, she had clung to him. Whatever nightmares had plagued her, they had gone that night.

Now, much later, much more content, she lay wrapped in Jace's arm. There was a pleasant heat that was emanating from his body, and it lulled Clary into a sense of perfect contentment. She now realized that this was the feeling of being loved; this was what had been missing for so long in her life now. She had mistaken it for so long now with Jonathan's perversion that she had desensitized herself to the feeling.

But this, this lying, warm and loved in Jace's arms was what she had been missing. This was to be loved deeply and truly, to not be afraid, but to open herself up, to be vulnerable and completely reliant on another, and have that person open their arms in acceptance.


	19. Into the Wild

Into the Wild 

"My lord, I have some news I would like to discuss in private, if you could spare me a moment."

Valentine turned to the voice, and found that it was his peculiar physician, Magnus Bane. The man was one of the few who was as tall as him, and seemed to have no difficulty looking him square eye. Valentine had always assumed the man's confidence came from his close friendship with Jocelyn, and his knowledge that he was simply too good a doctor to be dismissed. Regardless, Valentine sometimes found the man unnerving, though he'd never admit it. There was something about his eyes, not the shape, he heard that in the far east these eyes were common, but the look in them. Magnus always seemed to be looking through him, seeing something more than was there. That, and the shadow that seemed to shade his view.

"Something in private?" Valentine asked calmly. "I was unaware I was unwell."

"I'm not referring to you, and I'm not referring to an illness," he said simply, and waited for Valentine's interest.

It was short in coming. "Intrigued," was all he said, and led Magnus away to his private library. "What is that you come to me so urgently?"

"Your daughter," Magnus said. He had rehearsed the lines a few times, and thought he could deliver them to the greatest impact. "She has been unwell this last week, as I'm sure you've noticed. She'd call me, of course, and told me her symptoms, sickness in the morning and night, stomach pains, dizziness, things of that nature, so, naturally, I called for the midwife."

Valentine's eyes sharpened and he stared at Magnus. "What did the midwife say?"

"You're daughter hasn't had her courses since before her wedding, and the examination the midwife reported back to me, seems to make me believe your daughter is with child."

The words had the impact Magnus had wanted. Though Valentine showed no outward displays of excitement, his eyes glittered and his lips turned up. "You are sure of this?"

"I can think of no other thing that might cause morning and evening sickness, stomach pains, and missed courses." Magnus paused, thoughtful. "I say, with the best of knowledge and training, that your daughter is pregnant."

"This is marvelous news," Valentine said, again, nothing but his eyes glowing. "Marvelous, indeed. A feast should be thrown in celebration."

"Yes, yes of course," Magnus said, waving his hand impatiently. "But I've come more with a warning. This city is not a good place for your daughter to be when she's with child. The city is full of disease, I've heard the plague is about again, and I fear for her. Plus, the stress of the court is not good for her health, or that of the child. I would suggest Clary be sent to the country."

As Magnus suspected, Valentine's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I would prefer my daughter to stay here."

"I spoke with her husband, and he tells me he has land out in the country. He said is comfortable with Clary leaving for the duration of her pregnancy, so long as I travel with her."

"Did the Duke say that?" Valentine smirked. "I assume he would like to escort her?"

"No, actually, he was quite insistent I escort her. He said, for some strange reason, that he could not leave the court, that he had duties here he must attend to, and until Clary was well enough to return, that she go to country and I go with her."

As he had suspected, Valentine's eyes darkened, thinking quickly. Magnus knew he was trying to understand Jace's motives, but as Jace was offering to stay, it was a conundrum. Valentine seemed to come to a conclusion, though, and smiled at Magnus. "That's a generous offer, Magnus. Can we afford to lose you here?"

"It's not if you can afford to lose me here. It's if you can afford to lose the child Clary is carrying," said Magnus carelessly. "I'll stay or go as you command."

Valentine nodded vaguely. "I think about it. For now, I'll speak with Clary and Jace about it privately. Thank you, Magnus, for telling me. I think my daughter would have waited to tell me, and things like this can't be kept waiting."

"It's her first," Magnus shrugged. "All women are nervous about their first. I trust you remember how Jocelyn was about Jonathan. She fretted for weeks before she let me tell you." Magnus laughed at the memory but saw Valentine staring at him, eyes hard. "Ah, well, it's something to celebrate anyway."

Valentine thanked Magnus once more before turning away to his thoughts.

_So, Clary is with child, _Jace's_ child. A child born of the blood who can sit on the throne after me. _He thought about it, thought about having an heir; for so long he had accepted the fact his heir would be one born of incest. _Now, I'll have an Angel child. No more of Jonathan's madness, no more the shame. Only the glory of the pure race…this was how it was meant to be. I was _meant _to remove the shadowhunters so that a new race could be born. This proves it._

Valentine smiled to himself at his own admission. He had thought for so long that his slaughter of the shadowhunters would curse him. Now, as he stared his hopes in the face, he knew otherwise. He had been meant to do this, he had been meant to dead head the old, impure race of shadowhunters and start again with these two. Jace's survival had proved it.

Now it was just deciding what to do with them. Jace wanting to send Clary out to the country smacked of some plot to escape him, but, at the same time, Jace had offered to leave himself behind. He had asked Magnus to accompany Clary, and Magnus was a loyal physician. The only thing he could have suggested was sending Jonathan along, but that idea was put aside almost at once.

He knew, though he hated to admit it, that Jonathan was a monster. Since he'd been a boy, there had been some darkness that lingered inside him, undoubtedly from the demon blood he'd been given. Valentine often likened it to an acid; eating away at his sanity, and leaving behind a bitter, sadistic creature.

_No, Jonathan can't go with Clary, he would cut the thing from her belly. _Valentine smiled down at his hands. _I know how much he despises Jace, and I know how much he wants Clary. No, the baby wouldn't be safe with him near._

The thought left him concerned. If he allowed Clary to stay in the court, Jonathan would surely do everything in his power to end the pregnancy. That baby represented everything that Jonathan should hate, the end of his reign, the loss of the wife that should have been his, the new race of shadowhunters that would never accept him. Not to mention Jonathan's less than healthy obsession with his sister.

Valentine had accepted his responsibility in Jonathan's life, and had indulged him most of his life in return. Though Valentine was not one to admit guilt, he had come to admit that Jonathan was not human, not even close. He had proven again and again his demonic nature, his hunger for anything that was impure or cruel. He kept demons as his pets, took too much pleasure in his slaughter of the humans, encouraged the slave trade within the circles of the court, and had, on many occasions, been grossly inappropriate with Clary. Jonathan was a danger to everyone around him.

_Perhaps it is better for Clary to leave, _mused Valentine. _Though I can't abide sending Jace away as well. No, Jace will have to stay, though it will certainly not bode well for him. _

Jonathan's dislike of Jace was not unknown to Valentine, and more than worth a little concern. Of course Jonathan would hate Jace; Jace was everything Jonathan should have been. Lately, though, Jonathan had been showing an unusual amount of interest in Jace, and Valentine had spotted him deep in conversation with a few choice men of the court who had shown their own _unusual_ interest in Jace. Valentine might have considered protecting Jace, but he believed something had to be done to temper Jace. He couldn't have the duke constantly challenging him for the rest of his rule, or, worse yet, taint the new prince. No, Valentine would let Jonathan continue and intervene was it was absolutely necessary. Besides, he would always indulge his son.

_Regardless, I'll have to speak with them, _he decided, and left the room quickly in search of his daughter.

* * *

><p>Clary was out walking then gardens with Jace when Valentine found them. She had been making a point, especially over the last week, to begin taking air as often as she could. Magnus had mentioned it, and she had always needed excuses to stay away from the women of the court anyway. Usually, like that day, she would take Jace along with her, and, more often than not, they would plot ways of escaping from Valentine, though none of them ever seemed possible. It was the only thing that seemed to keep the two going, the thought of escape one day.<p>

"Well," Jace said, "now it seems more possible than ever before. If Magnus can convince your father that you should be away from the court, we could run."

"It'll be a hard battle," Clary sighed. "He's never let me out of his sights before, and I would think he'd been even more disagreeable with you nosing about."

"Well, here comes our chance to find out, yes?" Jace said, glancing up. Clary, who followed his gaze saw her father approaching and instinctively hugged closer to Jace. He drew her in with a tight squeeze.

"Daughter," Valentine said when he was close enough. "And the Duke. I had heard you were to be found here."

Clary feigned surprise. "I quite like the fresh air, father; doctors say it's healthy, and, as Jace here had no duties to attend, I enlisted him as well. But tell me, why have you come looking for me now? You've rarely left your duties to the kingdom early before."

"This is a duty to the kingdom," Valentine said simply, and he shot a pointed look at her belly. "You should have told me immediately."

Clary blushed and turned her face toward Jace. "It was a private matter, Father-"

"Not for you, it's not," said Valentine sharply. "This is the future prince or princess you carry, it's a matter of kingdom policy and family interest. I need to know these things."

Valentine's anger seemed to have some effect on Clary, who Jace felt go cold. "It's my fault," he said, his voice more dangerous than he meant. "Clary was nervous, and I indulged her. I care about my wife's state of mind." Then, added softly, "Someone has to."

Clary's shock at Jace's words showed on her face, but Valentine just smiled appreciatively. "You really have some nerve, boy."

"Again, someone has to," said Jace.

Valentine drew closer to both of them and studied Clary. "Magnus tells me the city air is not good for your child."

"He said much the same to me," Clary said, gesturing about her. "I come out here, but it does me little good. I think I should like to go to the country for a bit. Just some time to relax and get away from the court. The stress is straining me, Father."

"It never has before," he noted.

"Well, I was not carrying a baby before!" Clary shot back. "I hate how those women watch me, like they know more than they let on. And the men here are vile! I want to go away, far away, where none of those vultures can see me."

"Those vultures are your peers."

"Ha!" Clary sneered. "Peers? I am a shadowhunter, not some common human. I don't want them around me, and I certainly don't need them. All I want is the country air and a good book to read." She felt Jace pinch her, letting her know to calm down a little. "I want this child to grown strong in me."

"I have plenty of estates," Jace put in. "Plenty of places Clary could go for a few months. We could send her along by tomorrow with all her things and Magnus for company." When Jace caught Valentine's eye, he smiled ruefully. "I, of course, will stay here."

"It wasn't an option," Valentine said simply. He looked between Clary and Jace, searching for deceit. However, all he saw was Clary's had grasping at Jace's in fear. No, she didn't want to be parted from him any more than he wanted Clary out of his sight. "I'll consider it, Clarissa, but if I do let you go, it will be under close supervision."

Clary looked away. "Of course, Father. I know I'm too young and reckless to be allowed to ride a horse without guidance."

"Careful, girl," said Valentine swiftly. "I don't have to let you go anywhere. Maybe I think the best way to protect you from disease is to lock you in your rooms and board up all the windows."

Clary, properly rebuked, turned her face away. Jace spoke, "It would certainly not suit the décor, that much is certain." Jace gave Clary and nudge in the direction of the river. "Come along, Clary; I heard that a proper sea breeze is good for the health. You and I will just have to settle for the river breeze." Jace shot Valentine a sharp smile and bowed politely before drawing Clary away. As they walked Jace chuckled contemplatively. "Well, Magnus certainly did his job. I've never seen your father in such a state. He _almost_ seemed nervous."

"Jace, I don't want to leave you here," Clary said after a beat. She tightened her grip on his arm. "Jonathan is going to be furious the moment he finds out. He's going to do anything he can to get back at you. He's horrible, Jace, he's truly horrible-"

Jace took Clary by her shoulders and spun her around to face him. "Have a little faith in me." He cupped Clary's face and kissed her in the sight of a few lower ladies. They gasped and sighed and shuffled about nervously. "I understand your concern about your brother, but I won't miss the chance to get you away from here, or the chance for the two of us to escape. I'll admit it's a risk, but one I think we need to take."

They had arrived at the river shore and Clary stared out over the water. "I don't like to take risks, Jace. When I take a step, I always want to know where my foot will fall."

* * *

><p>It took perhaps two days before the entire court knew of Clary's pregnancy. If Clary and Jace hadn't been the center of attention before, they were now the names on everyone's lips. Men were congratulating Jace on his son, for they all assumed that it was what he wanted. Women flocked to Clary with advice, with questions, or just to place their palm on her belly. At times, Clary thought it funny that she was faking the entire thing, but such worldly women couldn't tell. Often, she was asked if such activities, like riding, walking, or dancing, were good for her, or if she was properly winded after them. Jace, who didn't see the point in giving up the only things in life he enjoyed anymore, could be heard saying again and again that exercise was good for a mother. He would often say that his mother had danced with his father until her belly was too big to allow her to reach, and he would expect nothing less from his wife.<p>

There was, however, a small circle of courtiers who seemed less than thrilled at Clary's pregnancy. They were led by none other than Jonathan, and could be found sequestered in a corner of the court, whispering and glancing with shadows in their eyes. The men, Jonathan's closest companions, followed Clary hungrily, and, more often than not, Jace as well. The women turned up their noses and laughed shrilly, and some murmured that Clary and Jace had taken their time, and others that it was too quick in coming, and it was suspicious.

Jonathan, of course, was the worst. He could constantly be seen staring after his sister with a dark, meditative look. He seemed to be always considering something cruel, and Clary knew what it was. If he had the chance, Clary knew Jonathan would cut that baby out of her and laugh while it died. He hadn't forgiven Jace for taking Clary, and as far as he was concerned, that child was a bastard.

However, it didn't seem that it would matter much; Valentine called Clary and Jace to him not four days after he found out about the pregnancy. He told them simply that Clary was to leave the following morning at daybreak, and stay at Woodend Manor, Jace's more productive but secluded estate, for three months, or until Magnus said the baby was healthy. She was to pack swiftly and quietly, and Clary suspected that Valentine was trying to get her away before Jonathan knew. He had made it very clear, though, that Jace was to remain under his control.

That evening, Clary watched at Isabelle packed her things into trunks, and felt her stomach turn. She knew she should be excited, praising the Angel, that her father was allowing her to leave all but unescorted, but she couldn't bring herself to it. The idea of leaving Jace behind was too much for her to bear. She couldn't stop worrying that with her gone, Valentine would leave Jace completely unprotected from Jonathan. The thought of leaving him turned her stomach and closed her throat.

"Milady, you look positively ill," Isabelle observed as she folded petticoats. "I would have thought you would jump at this chance."

"I would have thought so too," Clary mused, playing with her fingers. "But I find myself nervous, I suppose."

"Nervous? Nervous for what?" Isabelle paused thoughtfully. "Nervous for who, I should say."

Clary smiled at Isabelle, realizing how thoughtful the girl was. "I don't like leaving Jace unattended with my brother. Jonathan is dreadful enough to me, and the Angel knows what he'll do to Jace now that I'm with child."

"How soon before Jace follows you?"

Clary glanced toward the door, listening as closely as she could. "I don't know. Magnus said he had a contact who would let him know when they were leaving. I think it won't be long after me. I hope a two weeks at the latest." After a moment, Clary looked down and blushed. "I don't know if I want to go that long without with him."

Isabelle smiled knowingly. "You love him very much, and he you."

Clary rose up suddenly; she grasped at the necklace Jace had given her and swished about the room. "I don't want to go, but…at the same time, I can't believe that my father is letting me go. He's always kept me under his eye, watching me like a hound. To think that for once I'll be on my own."

"Not for long, I hope," came a smooth, soft voice. Clary jumped and spun about to find Jonathan standing in the doorway to her chamber. He smiled like a snake. "You seem rather pleased to be leaving. I can't imagine what you think you're going to find in the country."

Clary watched Jonathan approach, and she drew back, wondering desperately when Jace would return. From the corner of her eye, she saw Isabelle dart from the room. "I will find some peace of mind while this baby grows."

Jonathan's look darkened, and he snarled, "_That baby_. I can't believe our father has allowed you two to spawn."

Clary's face burned; maybe she wasn't really pregnant, but there would come a day when she and Jace would have children, and those children deserved to be loved. To think that their uncle would hate them turned her stomach, and Clary's hand covered her belly. "Don't say such things."

"Why, it's the truth." Jonathan stalked forward, and the look in his eye set Clary on edge. "You revolt me. To think you've lain with that _slave boy_, and now, you're carrying his little cur."

"Don't say that!" Clary snarled, hoping that someone would hear her. "I am proud to be his child's mother. The first in an honorable, true line of the Angel." Clary watched Jonathan's face contort at the mention of the Angel, and realized she must have truly struck a nerve.

"If it were up to me, that little cur would be drowned." He smiled like a razor. "Once I'm on the throne, things will be different. Once I'm on the throne, you'll learn your place."

"That'll be a cold day in hell," Clary hissed. "You know as well as I that my son will be the king as soon as he can sit up straight on that throne."

Jonathan moved like a snake; his hand snapped out and he tugged Clary toward him. Instinctively, Clary reached desperately for a weapon and her fingers actually found one. Jace had begun encouraging her to carry a weapon, and when she felt the handle in her grasp, she whipped it out. The edge cut upward, slicing through Jonathan's shirt. She saw a trickle of blood blossom.

"Look at that, she bites back," Jonathan laughed, amused. "Did that dog of a husband give you that?"

Clary jerked her arm, but Jonathan didn't let go. "I guess he knew I'd need it."

"Oh, Clary," Jonathan cooed. He reached up and ran his fingers through Clary's hair and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. "Oh, little sister. One day, you'll regret that; one day soon, if I have anything to say about it. I'll _make_ you regret it, but you'll want it."

Disgust curled Clary's lips, and she hissed, "You're revolting, Jonathan. Every time I see you, my stomach turns, and when you're near me, I shudder. The moment you touch me, my skin crawls. I despise you, and as soon as my son is king, I'll have you exiled."

Jonathan's hand snapped across her face. "You dare have the nerve to threaten me? You think now that you're the brood mare of the family, you've won yourself Father's protection? You are nothing but a whore, and who would know better than me?" Jonathan's finger's tightened and he dragged Clary across the room. "Does he know? Does little Jace know what you've done?"

"I know what you've done."

Jonathan whipped about, still holding Clary, and faced Jace. Jace was learning against the doorframe, and he appeared relaxed, but Clary was reminded of a coiled snake. He seemed ready to spring.

"Why if it isn't my little brother," Jonathan said easily. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting you yet. I thought you and my father had _such _important things to discuss."

"Well, you know Valentine, practically gushing over the baby. Already thinking names. What do you think of His Highness something or other?"

"Careful, Jace, Clary might be going, you're still well within my reach."

Jace laughed but there was no humor in it. "Oh, and what will you do to me? I admit, I'm a handsome man, but you seem to prefer redheads…"

Jonathan's face looked like one of his demon hounds. "And do you, Jace? Do you prefer little, feisty redheads?"

"The fact that you have the gull to say that only speaks to your perversion." Jace detached himself from the wall. "I know what you did, Jonathan, and Clary's right: as soon as my son can sit up straight, I'll be named Regent and the first order of business is your dismissal."

Jonathan seemed overcome with his fury, and he tossed Clary aside. She tumbled onto the bed with a cry. "I won't _bow _to the bastard you've gotten on my whore of a sister. I'll cut that thing from her womb and feed it to my hound. And when I'm through with it, I'll start on you."

Jace moved before Clary had time to cry out, and she was relieved to see that Jonathan had missed Jace. "I won't take threats against my wife or child."

"No, you won't," Jonathan snapped, lunging again for Jace. "Because when I take the throne I'll have you whipped raw and locked in some hole, and then Clary and that runt of hers are mine."

"What kind of man desires his own sister?" Jace sneered, dodging another of Jonathan's blows; the two stumbled into the sitting room. "You're sick."

"Desire her?" Jonathan laughed. "You think I desire her? I've already _had _her! She's nothing but a used woman. I suppose you're used to that though, aren't you? Only the Angel knows who your mother bedded before your father."

Clary scrambled off the bed, desperate to follow her brother and Jace, but just then Isabelle came shooting back in. She slammed the door shut and turned the lock, tucking the key safely in her bodice. "Milady, are you alright? Did Jonathan hurt you?"

"Isabelle, move. Jonathan's going to kill him. Jonathan's going to kill Jace-"

Isabelle pushed Clary away from the doors. "I can't. Jace ordered me to lock the doors. He told me to keep them closed until Jonathan was gone. Please, sit back down."

"He's going to _kill_ Jace!" Clary cried and tugged at Isabelle, but Isabelle was much taller, and held her ground."

"I won't let you get hurt," Isabelle said simply, and pushed Clary away again. Though Clary struggled, though she threatened, though she swore she would never speak with her again, Isabelle wouldn't move.

It was ten minutes later before the sounds of struggle faded, and Isabelle relaxed her stance. The doors shook, and Clary felt her heart race at the idea of Jonathan, but then the lock turned and the doors swung forward. Jace was waiting on the other side, his shirt torn and his lip bleeding. He was shaking slightly, but he grinned crookedly and leaned against the door.

"Jace," Clary rasped, and dove at him, wrapping her arms about his waist and pulling him against her. "Are you alright? Do you need a doctor?"

"I'm fine, Clary," Jace sighed, and, using Clary as a support, limped into the room. "It went fine, better than fine, since I had some help."

"Help?" Clary started, setting Jace down on their bed.

"For once, that mutt of yours proved useful," Jace sighed, and Luke darted in, launching himself onto the bed. He licked Clary, and to everyone's surprise, whined at Jace. "You were great, Luke."

"I told you," Clary murmured, running her fingers over Jace's wounds. Her hand brushed over his torn shirt, and Jace caught her wrist.

"The sooner you leave, the better." Jace kissed her hand. "Jonathan is too dangerous for you to be around. The way he talks…it's like he thinks you belong to him. I want you away from him, I want you far away from him."

Clary curled closer to Jace, and quietly, Isabelle crept from the room, calling for Luke. Jace draw Clary against him and kissed her hair. "He's dangerous, and not just to us. I think he has plans for the throne, Clary. I think he wants to be king."

"He can't," Clary moaned. "Jace, if Jonathan ever takes the throne he'll raze this kingdom to the ground. He'll kill the innocent, and he'll hunt us down. Jace…he'll come after me." Clary collapsed in his arms, and Jace supported her as he leaned back on the bed.

"I won't let him get you," Jace hummed. "I'm not going to let Jonathan hurt you. I'll take care of you; I'll keep you safe."

The urgency of the fight, the hunger in Jonathan's eyes, and the terror in Clary's face was too much. He suddenly felt the need to hold her, to know that she was there, and she was his. He wanted Clary, wanted her more than he had before, just because he realized how desperate her life was. He felt his hands race up and pull her against him. He wanted to crush Clary against him and not let her go.

Before Clary knew what had happened, Jace had drew her into his arms and was kissing her. She didn't protest when he rolled over and she was seated on his hips, and she didn't protest when he tugged at the strings on her bodice, and she didn't protest when he drew the curtains around the bed and drew the covers back invitingly.

* * *

><p>The morning dawned cold and grey, with mists settling over the castle grounds. Clary was seated on her horse, tucked in a Jace's fur trimmed cloak, waiting for her father to come see her off. Holding the horse steady, was Jace, whose free hand rested on Clary's calf, uncaring who saw as he rubbed warmth into her legs. Seated on a mare gone to seed was Isabelle, who was bidding her brothers farewell, and Magnus was seated on a stallion, looking regal and exotic as always.<p>

"I'm going to miss this the most," Clary purred, shooting Jace a provocative glance.

"You're going to miss me rubbing your leg?" Jace chuckled. "I thought I was a better lover than that-"

"You know what I mean," Clary said, but she couldn't bring herself to sound sharp. Instead, she sounded soft and content. "I can't say I'm in any mood to ride out."

"You didn't sleep well?" Jace asked.

"I dare say I didn't sleep at all, and I hardly think I want to," Clary murmured, and then caught Isabelle watching her; she winked lazily.

"I hope you don't sleep well often, then," Jace said with as much verve, and then snapped his hand back as Valentine descended the steps of the castle.

"You're all ready to go, Clarissa." It wasn't a question. "I expect to hear from you as soon as you've arrived at Woodend. Magnus, I'll want weekly progress reports on Clary. I need to know this was a wise medical decision."

Magnus tipped his head. "If a hair so much as curls, you'll be the first to know."

"See to it," Valentine said, and turned to face Jace and Clary holding hands. "Say your farewells you two, I have business to attend to and I can't waste my day here."

Clary had expected as much. She leaned down to Jace's lips and kissed him slowly. "I'll see you soon, yes?"

"As soon as can be," Jace assured. "And have no fear, I'll keep a watch on Jonathan."

"Please be careful." Clary squeezed his hands. "I'll be thinking of you."

"I hope so," Jace responded. "I always considered myself unforgettable."

Clary smirked but knew Jace had won. She resettled herself on the saddle, tipped her father a bow, and then glanced to Magnus. Magnus clicked his tongue and the horses set off. Jace watched as Clary became just a speck of grey that faded away in to the mists, and knew, that while this was the best choice, it was certainly not the easiest. He stood alone a while, wondering just how long it was going to be before he too followed Clary out of the gate to the castle and into the wilds. Jace decided he looked forward to that day more than anything else.


	20. Woodend

Woodend

"It's sorta like looking over the edge of the world, isn't it, Clary?" Isabelle asked as she peered precariously over the edge of a monstrous drop. The cliff face was sheer and covered in thick moss and small straggly trees. At its feet and stretching out as far at the eye could see was a dense forest, and all that was visible was thick tree tops that gave way to mists and the unknown. In the distant, Isabelle thought, if she strained herself, she could see a mass of land that wasn't trees. Maybe it was just her imagination.

"Well, it certainly puts me in my place," Clary laughed, and then kicked a loose stone over the edge. "I've never felt so small." A wind rushed up the cliff face and tossed her hair about; she shivered and wondered when she could get inside.

"You get used to it after you've grown up a little," observed Magnus. "You start to realize how insubstantial you really are, well, most people do. You, young Clary, might never experience the wonder of being infinitesimal."

Clary turned a playful look on Magnus and then tossed another rock over the edge. "How far until we reach Woodend Manor? I'm tired of riding, and I'm dying for a proper bath."

Magnus smiled sadly at Clary. "It's just over the rise, little princess, but I think you may be sorely disappointed in what you find. This isn't the royal castle, this isn't even the Herondale's most prominent manor. This is Woodend Manor, mind you. You're at the edge of world as you know it now."

Properly chastised, Clary ducked back to her horse and tossed herself up into the saddle. Isabelle admired the way Clary could so easily move, and wondered again if there was some magic that was endowed to Clary as she was a shadowhunter. As they set off again, Isabelle watched Clary seated in her saddle, and looked on jealously as she seemed so comfortable. Isabelle had spent most of her life as a beautiful human woman, and a human woman had constraints. She wanted the limitless ease of a shadowhunter, the grace and power that lingered in every single one.

_Ah, well, you were born what you were born, _she thought haplessly and turned her attention back to the dirt road.

"If you look ahead, just around this bend, you'll see Woodend," Magnus called up to Clary. "Yes, just here."

Clary kicked her horse into a trot, and then rounded the bend. There, perched on a softly sloping hill was a small but proper looking manor house, flanked on all sides by ploughed fields and well trimmed grass lawns. Clary thought the house looked quaint and lovely, like a place she would very much like to spend the rest of her life in. It was surrounded on all sides by trees that reached up to the heavens, and as she passed through the lines of tress, the wind stopped blowing so harshly and the cold that had been biting her bones softened a bit. The manor had been cunningly built for natural protection against the harsh elements.

"Oh, well, that's beautiful," Isabelle proclaimed as she joined Clary. "If you ask me, it's the perfect size. None of that castle grandeur but some understated mien of a lord."

"It's perfect," Clary agreed, and then sent her horse into a gallop. Behind her, she could hear Isabelle urging the mare to move, and Magnus prompting his stallion in some strange tongue she couldn't place. They streaked up the dirt road throwing divots of dirt up, attracting some attention of the workers who were gathering in the last of the hay for the season. When they saw Clary, then bowed, but she simply gave a cheer and wave and sped on. When her horse clip-clopped under the mantle of the outer wall, she was met by the master of the house.

"Welcome, Lady Herondale," he announced as other staff made themselves present. He took a deep bow. "We received news of your coming and have hurried to set to accommodate you. It is not often we receive guests of such high rank here at Woodend."

Clary understand at once what the man meant: we were rushed and didn't really have the time to get the place together for you. Hope you don't mind the disarray. She shot him a favorable smile. "Have no fear, I expect my arrival is a little short of notice. I must have followed the letter by one day if that. So long as there is a bed and a hot meal, that's all I ask."

"I can promise you both, Lady Herondale," he said at once, and helped her down from her horse. "Who else, may I ask, has come in your retinue?"

Clary glanced behind her. "My servant, Isabelle, and the royal physician, Magnus Bane. As I'm sure you're aware, I've come for the fresh air and to avoid any illness that might plague that large cities."

Conspicuously, the man glanced at Clary's belly, and she smiled at him. "We had heard, and sent for a midwife for your needs. It is wonderful news to hear the Lord will soon have an heir. Land has been changing hands often enough these lasts months, what with the raids and all."

They headed indoors, Isabelle carrying some of Clary's things, but most of the trunks left for able-bodied men to carry. Magnus, of course, took only his medical bag with him, and left the rest for the workers. "Yes, so unfortunate about the late Lord and Lady Herondale," Clary sighed. "My mother and Lady Herondale had been on very good terms."

"I recall," said the man gruffly to Clary's surprise. It must have shown on her face, for the man laughed. "I served the late Lord and Lady all my life, and have, on occasion, the pleasure of seeing the late Highness herself."

"You must tell me more," Clary said at once. "I knew very little of my mother's life, or the life of my betrothed before I met him. Jace and I were never properly introduced."

"Ah, my lady, it will be my pleasure. I had the pleasure of that child's company for many a year. As I recall, Lord Herondale did love Woodend."

Clary laughed. "You call it a pleasure?"

He joined in. "He was rascal if there ever was one, but a good rascal. I raised three boys of my own, and never had a problem with any of them. Though, I'll admit, that boy did have me running circles sometimes."

"That settles it," Clary announced. "You must join us for dinner this evening. Jace is very careful to never tell me stories about his youth. He seems to think it might compromise him."

"Only compromise his dignity, my lady." The man had led her up a flight of stairs and into a private corridor. "I accept your invitation to dinner, though, and will see it ready by five this evening, if that suits. This is your room, well, the room of the lord and lady of Woodend, that is. There is a servants' stair off the main room, for your maid, and another room just down the hall for the physician."

Magnus and Isabelle had been trailing behind them and stopped when he turned to face them. "I'll show you each to your quarters. I've made ready a fire in each, and had the linens turned. Your things will be brought up shortly."

"I never caught your name, sir," Clary called as he led Magnus away.

The man turned. "It's Hodge, milady, Hodge Starkweather."

* * *

><p>"My lord, you do agree, of course, that there's a chill in the air that just doesn't suit. Would you care to go inside?"<p>

Jace, who had been watching a hunting falcon swoop by and was reminded of his own days, hunting at Woodend, turned to face Lady Cecilia. The thought of Woodend had driven him to the thought of Clary, and she had pushed most other things from his mind, least of all, the women who now plagued him. Since Clary had left unannounced, many women had taken it as a sign that Jace had tired of her. Having married her, and bedded her, he could safely send her off to the country. Clearly, he was interested in a mistress by this point.

"Inside, on a day like this?" Jace asked, surprised. "The sun is shining and the wind is calm. You should take the air while you can get it, I know Clary certainly will."

The mention of Clary he hoped would have driven her away, but the woman seemed to take it as an invitation. "And how is your wife? Just where have you sent her?"

"Sent her?" Jace laughed. "I don't dare to send a princess anywhere. She had taken the royal physician and fled to Woodend."

"Fled from what?" she pressed, enjoying the word game.

"From me, of course. I'm quite the rake. I'm sure you've seen me stealing kisses and more," he smirked. The blush that darkened her cheeks was enough to satisfy Jace. "However, she can't outrun me for long. I'm an excellent huntsman, and an even better rider."

"Better rider, indeed," laughed a few men, who had heard his talk. They winked roguishly. "You must be to have sent your wife running for the country to escape you. Women, they just don't know what best for them."

The bawdy humor and innuendo was enough to upset Lady Cecilia, who rose and bowed swiftly. Though Jace was glad to be rid of the woman, he didn't exactly appreciate the comments the men had made; they were in poor taste, even for the rough men of the court. "I find that woman often know what is best in a situation," he said by way of excusing himself. "I don't know if my constitution agrees with the talk."

"Don't run too far, Duke!" called one of the men, his fellows laughing horribly. "We enjoy your presence, it seems we enjoy it almost as much as the women. You must join us soon for a game of cards, or gambling, or a _ride_."

Jace simply smiled an empty smile and turned and left. _Without Clary, it seems my conversation is left to the dogs. By the Angel, who would have thought such powerful men could be so powerfully stupid. _

Having the avoid the ladies of the court had become routine for Jace, who found their company unbearably dull, so he had engineered quite an escape route that would take him from the courtyards, up his stairs, and to his rooms where he could sit in private and read. When he arrived at his rooms, he found that Max was seated before the fire, prodding it to life, and Alec was lounging on one of the chairs. When he spotted Jace, his face flushed, but he didn't move, knowing it was pointless.

"You look comfortable," Jace said, but Alec knew he was teasing. "And you, Max, do you enjoy poking that fire?"

"It's like holding a knife!" Max said at once. "The fire stick, it's like a sword."

"You want a sword?" Jace asked, eyeing Max and thinking of himself when he was a little boy. "What would you do with it, if you had one?"

Max looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'd fight demons."

"The demons are gone," Jace said with a straight, measured face. "Valentine killed them all."

"I don't think so," Max said carefully. "I've thought about it, and I don't think they're gone. I've seen them."

"Max," Alec warned, but Jace shot him a silencing look.

"Where have you seen them?"

Max glanced at the door. "I guess I've never _seen _them, but sometimes, I get this feeling. Especially when I'm down in the slave quarters, near the cellars, I feel all cold, and one time, I thought I was sick." Jace raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. "And then, sometimes, when I'm around the prince, I get this feeling. I feel scared, but not scared because he's a prince, scared because he's wrong. There's something wrong about him!"

"_Max_!" Alec said sharply.

"Now, now, Alec," Jace mused. "He may be on to something; I think we can both agree, Jonathan is rather sickening. Perhaps he senses something, perhaps the boy knows more than he lets on." Jace winked at Max. "Either way, I don't see why you shouldn't learn how to hold a sword."

"Do you mean it?" Max jumped up, dropping the fire poker. "You'll teach me how to fight?"

Jace shrugged. "Not here, but soon. I don't intend to spend much time here. Once Clary and I move to one of my manors I'll take you and your siblings with me and I'll teach you. I think you'll like it in the country."

Max's eye's glistened. "I was raised there."

Jace laughed and Alec smiled helplessly at his brother. "I'm sure we would all appreciate that, but, I think we should focus on the here and now. How is Clary?"

Jace sighed. "I haven't heard a thing. I can only assume that if Magnus sent a letter, Valentine will receive it. I don't think Clary will be able to send me anything personally."

Alec didn't know quite what to say. In truth, he was most interested in knowing if his sister was safe, and, perhaps, a little keen to hear of Magnus. Over the past few months, since he had met Magnus, Alec had found himself thinking more and more often of the man. At first, he had thought it was because the man was so exotic. Alec had never seen such strange eyes or such outlandish mannerisms. However, as time had gone, he realized that his memory was more haunted by the way Magnus's hands had worked over his arm, the musical baritone of his voice, and the way his smile cut up like a knife.

"Perhaps they will return soon," Alec mused, and a knock on the door drove him to his feet. He glanced nervously at Max and then Jace. Jace nodded to the bedroom and Alec herded Max there. "Stay under the bed, Max. And don't make a noise." Alec had warned, and then pushed Max under the bed.

When he returned, Alec was shocked to find none other than Jonathan lounging against the door. Jonathan's eyes slowly roamed to Alec, and he smiled all teeth. "Well, well, well, you and my sister are so alike. You both keep little dogs about you."

"Alec," Jace said swiftly. "You may go now. I'll expect you to set things to order while I'm at dinner." Alec bowed and left the room, his eyes darting to the bedroom once. As soon as he was gone, Jace turned his full attention to Jonathan. "I don't recall inviting you to my rooms, Jonathan."

"I'm your lord, I don't need an invitation," he answered curtly. "I came to see how you were getting on without my sister about you. This place seems a bit empty."

"Were you expecting me to have company?" Jace responded quickly.

Jonathan grinned wickedly. "Well, a handsome boy like you would certainly not have trouble finding company."

"I'm flattered you think I'm handsome." Jace smirked. "But no, I'm content to simply relax and enjoy my privacy."

"That's unfortunate." Jonathan entered the room and looked about. "Unfortunate for _you_, that is. Had you been keeping some company, you might have stood some chance. Perhaps there's a lesson in this for you: never underestimate the value of your peers. As the soon-to-be ruler of this land, I can appreciate the value of a mindless human."

Jace rose and felt for the blade tucked inside his coat. "You seem very secure in your transcendence to the throne."

"Well," Jonathan laughed, spotting the movement of Jace's hand. "I have my reasons." He lunged then, and Jace, though holding the blade at the ready, was not prepared for the attack that would come.

Jonathan was faster than Jace thought was possible, and he himself, was faster than any person he'd ever met. Jace spun the blade out and sliced forward with it, managing to draw blood, but the blood didn't seem to concern Jonathan. He laughed and brought his hand up, smashing it into Jace's forearm. Jace gasped and dropped the blade as his entire arm convulsed. Jonathan saw the opening and lunged for Jace's throat, but Jace managed to spin away deftly.

"You can't run from me, boy," snarled Jonathan. "I _own _this castle and everything in it. Including you."

"I knew you wanted me," Jace sneered, and snatched the fire poker Max had been playing with off the ground.

"Don't flatter yourself," Jonathan laughed. "The only reason you're not dead is because my sister likes you. If I'm going to keep her happy, I'm going to have keep you around."

Jace frowned; he didn't like the way Jonathan was speaking. "I don't think you'll be able to keep her happy in any sense."

"She'll learn," was all Jonathan said, and vaulted over the chair that was between him and Jace. Jace hacked at the air with the fire poker, and it hit home, knocking Jonathan upside the head with the blunt side of it. Jonathan stumbled to the side with a frustrated snarl and clutched the side of his head. Jace expected him to be down long enough to get Max and run.

Jace might have taken two steps toward his room when he felt a hand on his shoulder dragging him back. Jonathan had recovered much quicker than Jace thought possible, and there was a glint in his eyes that spoke to his anger. Jace raised the fire poker, but Jonathan caught his wrist out of midair and jerked it down sharply, drawing Jace into his grasp at the same time. Jace pulled his other fist back, but Jonathan hooked his arm through Jace's and turned him around.

"Bet you could do with my sister now, eh?" Jonathan hissed in his ear. "At least she kept her wits about her in a fight. You're just strong-headed; you don't think before you act. You never would have made a good monarch anyway."

Jace twisted in Jonathan grasp, but it was like iron. "You can't kill me."

"I don't plan on it, Jace. There are plenty of fates worse than death, and I have the lucky chance to think of all of them."

Jace yelled, more in irritation than pain or fear, and his voice was answered by the heavy pounding of feet. At first, Jace had thought that Max had foolishly come to his aid, and he turned to tell the boy off, but instead, a huge mass of black fur came pelting out of the room where Max was, snarling and bearing fangs as sharp as daggers. Luke crashed into Jonathan and Jace before Jonathan could fend him off, and his jaws closed on Jonathan's shoulder, effectively tearing the muscle.

Though it was a valiant effort, and Jace suspected the torn ligaments and muscles would last for a week or so, Jonathan kicked Luke with enough force to send him hurtling backward into a table where he lay unconscious. Jace hoped, foolishly at a time like that, that Luke would wake up before Jonathan had time to come deal with him; there was no doubt in his mind that Jonathan would kill Luke the moment he had a chance.

"I hate that damn mutt!" Jonathan snarled, twisting Jace's arm as if it were Luke's throat. "I'm going to gut that thing and make a coat from his hide."

"You know, torturing little animals is the first sign of a psychopath," Jace said conversationally. "You might want to see someone about that."

"You might want to hold your tongue," Jonathan returned. He pulled himself and Jace up to his feet and gave Jace a good shake. "Where you're going, it's better to keep yourself quiet. Once you start screaming, you never stop."

Though Jace had some response, he never got to say it; Jonathan hit him hard enough over the head to send him into darkness. With one last disparaging look at Luke, he dragged Jace unceremoniously out.

For ten minutes, not a sound was heard in the room, for ten minutes, not a shadow moved, for ten minutes, Luke remained immobile and Max, hidden under the bed, was silent. However, after ten minutes, Alec carefully pushed open the door to the room and glanced about, wondering where Jonathan and Jace had gone. He had turned the corner and stayed hidden there, waiting for Jonathan's loud angry voice to echo away and give him the chance to help Jace. But when he heard nothing, fear urged him onward. When he saw the state of the room, he was in shock.

"Max," he called in hoarse whisper. "Max, where are you?"

He was answered by silence, but only for a minute. He heard the sound of blankets falling and then the soft padding of his brother's footsteps. Max came from Jace's room, white in the face. "Jonathan took Jace! I saw Jonathan hit Jace over the head and drag him out!"

"Are you alright?" Alec pressed, checking for injuries every which way. Max jerked away from his searching hands and pointed at the dog lying in the broken table.

"Didn't you hear me? Jonathan took Jace and he killed Luke, and he said he's going to hurt Jace-"

"Jace is a big boy," Alec said, though he bit his lip, fearing Max was right. "I'm the one in charge of you, Max. Now, please, stand still."

"But Jonathan took Jace!" Max pleaded.

"He finally did, did he?"

Max and Alec snapped about. Standing in the doorway, studying the mess that was once the Duke's rooms, was Maia. She saw the fire poker and stray embers free of the fire's grasp. Saw the upset chairs and the broken table. Lastly, her eyes landed on the dog taking slow, shallow breaths, lying in the rubble. With a long-suffering sigh, Maia rolled her eyes and passed the mess only to go and kneel before Luke.

"What are you doing?" Alec asked, more than a little shocked at Maia's timely arrival and her apparent disinterest in Jace's abduction.

"Don't worry about it, Mundane," the called over her shoulder, and then, to Max and Alec's surprise, began prodding the dog and grunting in a very low, rough voice. After a moment, Luke jerked to life. His ears pressed forward and he gave the room a once over. Tiredly, like he was person, the wolf-hound rose carefully onto his paws and then shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts, before glancing over at Maia and giving her a clearly disparaging look. Maia just stared back dispassionately. "Hey," she said to the dog, hands on her hips, "I was the one who was all for leaving with Jace the day after Clary. It was you and Magnus who were on about secrecy and appearances."

* * *

><p>Dinner that evening turned out to be a much more casual affair, and Clary felt overdressed at once, her satin gown dusting about and her carefully placed hair far out of place in the small, warm dining hall. Magnus, who had offered to escort Clary, had dressed down, and now Clary knew why. Waiting in the corner was Isabelle, who was wearing her best dress, and seemed the most comfortable. When she saw Clary, she bowed, but Clary waved her off. Hodge was already seated, and when he saw Clary, rose and bowed to her.<p>

"You light up the room, milady; it's been too long since we had a _proper_ woman amongst our ranks."

Clary laughed carelessly. "If I've anything to say about it, it will be a long time indeed before you have another." Magnus held out a chair for Clary then seated himself between Hodge and the princess; though he found Hodge amiable, he wasn't going to trust anyone but himself with Clary's care. "What's on the menu tonight?"

"Nothing too fine, I'm afraid. The best this house could do, but I'm sure it will pale in comparison to stock you're used to."

"Nonsense," Clary said as Isabelle poured her wine. "My doctor tells me I need fresh food for the baby's health. What better than something prepared with only the most basic ingredients? The food of the palace is often over-flavored and over-saturated. It's hardly healthy."

"Well, then perhaps you might like the fare," Hodge agreed, and signaled the servants to bring their food.

As he had promised, it was simple fare. A chicken had been killed in their honor, and the meat prepared with nothing more than butter and a few herbs to add flavor. Boiled carrots accompanied the chicken, as well as chucks of potatoes, boiled and salted. Clary knew how expensive salt was, and smiled at the effort. She made a point allowing her enjoyment to show on her face; hopefully the cook would hear she'd liked it.

"So, you said you knew Jace as a boy?" Clary began.

Hodge stirred. "Ah, yes, that boy; he was a handful, that was for sure. But a good boy at heart, and very astute. He was a quick learner, and sometimes I think his mother and I regretted it; it certainly served him well in an argument, that quick wit."

"I've noticed," Clary laughed. "Sometimes, I think he just let's me win because I'm his wife."

"Always a gentleman," agreed Hodge. "He was raised as best we could, but it was hard for him, what with father away so often. Even when he was here, Duke Herondale didn't set aside much time for the boy. I think, had he, he might have come to recognize what a fine son he had reared."

"Jace and his father didn't get on well?"

Hodge smiled sadly. "Jace was, and I dare say, probably still is, in love with the country. He never seemed more content than when he was at Woodend. Jace was an excellent huntsman, swordsman, horseman, and knew a fair bit of husbandry too. He perfected those skills while he spent his summers here. And, of course, his mother never wanted him in the city. She thought poorly of the palace and the lords there."

Clary stared long at her wine glass. "Well, she certainly knew best. The court is no place to raise a child, and certainly not one so gifted. I think, had Jace gone with his father to my father's palace, his gifts would have withered."

"Perhaps, but I knew that his mother always regretted not sending him at least once to meet you," Hodge said thoughtfully. "Yes, when the queen was still alive, Celine kept up quite a correspondence with her. Of course, your mother and she had been good friends. They had gotten with child at the same time as well…Valentine had taken such an interest in both pregnancies…"

Clary looked up quickly. "My father was interested in Celine?"

"Not like that!" Hodge said hurriedly.

"No, I know," Clary said, waving a hand carelessly. "But he was interested in the pregnancy?"

"Well, yes, as I recall," Hodge mused. "Celine and Jocelyn had both been suffering from severe morning illness, and he had mentioned an old family recipe, one from his mother. A powder to mix in your morning tea that might assuage the sickness."

Clary caught the dark look in Magnus's eyes and the way his gaze narrowed in thought. "Well, that's odd. He never offered me a thing!" Clary said, laughing and turning the joke before Hodge saw Magnus. "You'd think, what with my child being the next in line, he'd have a care? Ah, well, men…"

"Men are always anxious over their wives, after that, they get into the swing of things." Hodge laughed. "That's why I was so surprised when Jace agreed to send you here. I would have thought he'd want to keep his eyes on you."

"He did," Clary said quickly. "But Magnus knows what's best for a baby, and my father wasn't going to risk the child for anything or anyone. Not even my husband."

"Still," Hodge pushed. "I'm surprised he didn't come with you."

"He's a busy man," Clary said sternly. "I could hardly condone dragging my husband from the House of Lords, just for the sake of my nerves. I'll be back to the court before this child is born."

"A pity," Hodge said. "We would have liked you to stay the entire duration."

Clary smiled sadly around her. "As would I, Hodge. I grow weary of the court often, and this child is all that matters to me, I don't want to risk the pregnancy from stress…but my duty is to the people, and I must be at court for that."

"Honorable sentiment, milady. Would you care for some apple tart?" A waitress had appeared, holding a tray with apple tart. Clary saw the delicate pastry, the frosting that criss-crossed its way over the top, and the steam that rose in tantalizing plumes.

"What do you think, Magnus? Safe for the babe?"

Magnus smiled widely. "Only one way to know for sure."

As the three of them tucked into the dessert, Clary looked about her contemplatively, running over the new information she had only recently gleaned: her father's role in Jace's life. He had been interested in Jace before he had been born, had seen that Celine be given some special treatment, and then tried to have them all murdered? It didn't add up for Clary, and, when she thought about the fact that her father had never given her any powder for her illness, it sat even less well with her.

The conversation soon turned back to the court, what Clary did there, what Jace did there, how her father was taking to the Duke. Clary thought it all very flattering when she considered the fact that Hodge _knew _about her father's edict to have the last ruling class killed. Clearly, he was trying to be polite and not mention the rather cruel fate his previous employers had suffered.

Well, so long as Woodend remains untouched, we shall be content," Hodge said, speaking about the loss of the Herondales. "I'll admit, I was shocked when the lord and lady were found dead, but not so surprised to hear that Jace had found his way to the castle. I don't doubt there was some mistake in their deaths."

"Yes," Clary agreed softly, feeling ill. Hodge must have liked the lord and lady very well to dare speaking of them fondly before anyone. "We are fortunate indeed that Jace came when he did."

"I won't lie, milady," Hodge said with a roguish wink. "I was overjoyed when I heard the reason for your coming. We all were. It's been so long since we've had little Herondales running about; the thought of a renewed line brings joy to my old heart. I can't say I was too pleased with the last lord who sat in Jace's place."

Clary felt a little guilt over the fake pregnancy; clearly, Woodend would have been an ideal place to bring her children, just like her youth when her mother still lived. But then, were she really pregnant, Clary had no doubt her father wouldn't let the baby out of his sight, least of all to the middle of nowhere. "You knew the Lewis's?" Clary asked to change the subject.

"Met them once, and they stayed a few days," muttered Hodge. "The Lewis family isn't made for the wild, not like the Herondales. Lord Lewis belongs in court if ever I saw one; I didn't know how he could get himself up onto his horse, let alone ride the thing. And that son of his…"

Clary smiled, unable to help herself. While Hodge's description of the Lewis family was somewhat cruel, it was true. The Lewis family had never had claim to much land, and certainly never claim to as vast lands as the Herondales. The old noble class had been composed solely of shadowhunters, men and women who were both strong and cunning, hunters, craftsmen, horsemen, warriors. They had forged this land with their bare hands and their swords, and the wild was nothing to them. In comparison, any human was considered soft, and the Lewis's no exception.

"I knew Simon rather well in our youth," Clary said with a smile. "You're quite right, of course, the Lewis family isn't one to go trooping about the wild. They prefer the well tamed city streets."

"Well, I was certainly pleased when Jace was reinstated. I couldn't bear the thought of being servant to that Lewis boy." Hodge frowned at the very thought.

"Yes, I can see why," Clary said again, and this time, the laughter she had been holding back came bursting out.

Since she had known him, Simon had been loathe to those things people consider manly. Yes, he knew how to ride, and hunt, and hold a sword, and converse over politics, but he'd never been fond of it. He was eternally craving books to read, and Clary could see how Hodge had dismissed Simon when he had long expected to be serving a man like Jace.

"Forgive me, milady," Hodge said.

"No forgiveness is necessary." Clary stood and dusted her skirt off. "I knew Simon, and I can see why many think him soft. He's a man of words, not swords."

"You can say that again," muttered Magnus to everyone's surprise. He shot Clary a sly smile. "I've seen the boy before, and I never put much by him either."

"A common mistake," Clary agreed. "But you can make it up to me by escorting me to my rooms. Isabelle, could you come by later a make sure my bedpan is filled and the fire stoked?"

"I could send any of our servants," piped up Hodge. "There are plenty who know the way well."

"No, please, I've brought a retinue, I might as well use it," Clary waved a hand, and then waited for Magnus make his bows and take her hand and lead her away. "So," Clary said, as they wandered up the stairs to her room, "a powder my father made to fight the effects of morning sickness?"

"None that I've ever heard of," Magnus murmured, his eyes dark. "I think we haven't been giving Valentine enough credit of late. He did something, I just don't know what."

"Did something?" Clary's face paled. "He did something to Jace and I?"

"I don't know," Magnus said. "I was never told of any medicine your mother took, and Celine was never my patient. If it had been something powerful, your father should have told me so the medicine I gave didn't counteract it. Or worse."

Clary opened the door to her room quietly. "Do you think Hodge knows more than he says?"

"I think he is unswervingly loyal to the Herondales," Magnus said decidedly. "But I think knows more of this powder than he should, whether by chance or his own volition, I cannot tell. Lock your door, Clarissa, and once Isabelle is on, lock the servant door as well. I'll knock when I come to get you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Magnus," Clary said, and she meant it. She hadn't realized until then just how much the doctor had done for her, and how much he was risking to help her. "When all this is over, I'll find some way to repay you."

"This isn't nearly over, princess, it's only just begun," Magnus said darkly, and then left, his thoughts on Jocelyn and Valentine, and what might link Jace and Clary.

Left to her own devices, Clary prepared for bed as best she could. It was most defiantly different from the castle where she had throngs of maids to help her, and the constant attention of Isabelle. At Woodend, the staff was low, and the quality somewhat poor. Clary stoked her own fire, filled her own bedpan, and sat before her mirror and undid the intricate design in her hair. She was brushing it out when the servants' stair opened and Isabelle emerged. She was flushed and bright eyed.

"You're in a good mood," Clary observed, and wondered what had put her in such a state. "Do you like Woodend?"

"I think it agrees with me," Isabelle said with a sly smile. "I'm very much in my element here."

"I can't say I am," Clary sighed. "What am I going to do once I leave? If Magnus is right, we'll be leaving castles and palaces far behind. I'm going to be hopeless."

"No you won't," Isabelle said, setting to work undoing the laces on Clary's dress and getting her into something more suiting bed. "I'll teach you what you need to know. It would be my pleasure to help you acclimate."

Clary looked at Isabelle in the small mirror before her bed; her gaze narrowed in on a small red mark on the crook of Isabelle's shoulder. "Isabelle, what is that?"

Isabelle's fingers tangled themselves about the laces, and she said indifferently, "What is what?"

"That red mark on your shoulder," Clary pressed, wondering what on earth it could be.

"It-it's nothing, milady. Just a bite from a bug."

"There are no bugs," Clary pressed. "It's the end of summer, they've all gone. Where did you get it?"

"It's a bite," Isabelle said firmly.

"From what?" When Isabelle refused to answer, Clary narrowed her eyes in thought. "Did someone _bite_ you?"

"Oh, Clary," Isabelle said, and burst into a fit of laughter. "Yes, yes, someone bit me, but it's nothing to concern yourself with."

"If someone is biting my servants-"

"It's a love bite!"

Clary's mouth snapped shut. "A love bite?"

"Yes," Isabelle said, exasperated. "I mean, you should know, shouldn't you? You and Jace have played about before."

"He never bit me," Clary said in outrage.

It was Isabelle's turn to look surprised. "It's not as if it's a bad thing. It feels good sometimes. It's all in fun."

"Fun?" Since she and Jace had consummated their marriage, Clary had thought herself well versed in the ways of married life. She had believed that her knowledge of a wife's duty was complete, and it had satisfied her; now, with Isabelle practically rubbing her face in what was clearly a gross oversight, she felt small and childish again. "I didn't know people did that."

Isabelle must have realized what she had done, because her face softened. "It's not something the royal folk do, I don't think. I think it's rather looked down on, you know, for a woman of status to go waltzing about with big red marks over her neck. I wouldn't expect you to know much about it."

"Should I know much about it?" Here, Clary's eyes searched Isabelle's face carefully. "After all, I'm not going to be a princess much longer, right?"

After a beat, Isabelle's face split into a grin. "Next time you see Jace, give it a try."

"Do you think he'd like it, though?" Clary asked, again feeling lost in a world she should have known.

"Clary, he's a man," Isabelle sighed, helping her into bed. "It's different for women, we have to be discreet. But for men, that's a whole different world."

Clary glanced down at her hands. They were soft and pink, the nails trimmed perfectly, the crevices cared for and scrubbed. She wondered vaguely just how much she was going to have to learn in the next few months. She wondered how much she was going to have to change. Perhaps, most pressing, was facing the woman she would have to become.


	21. The Bitter End

The Bitter End

"Would you care to explain what is going on?" Alec asked as Maia, followed closely by the wolfhound, led Alec and Max down the stairs and into the servant quarters. If Alec hadn't been so concerned for Jace's welfare, and not a little shocked over Maia's sudden appearance, he might have taken the time appreciate where he was. The servant's quarters were different from the slaves', and more private. Maia was taking them to her room. "Maia, what the hell just happened?"

"Nothing happened," Maia tossed over her shoulder. "At least not till we get to my room did anything happen." A few of the serving woman smiled at Maia and waved, though they gave the slave boys a rather dark look.

"Maia, Jonathan just dragged Jace off and all you seem to do is keep talking to your dog. Can you please-"

"Be quiet!" Maia hissed at Alec, accompanied by a warning growl from Luke, and he fell silent for the rest of the walk. Max, who was still shaken from what he had seen between Jace and Jonathan, kept his eyes wide open and his fear locked away. He had to be strong now.

Maia led the boys to a hall with wooden doors on either side. She unlocked the third of the right and ushered them inside; Alec and Max started at the sight of the room. They had assumed that servants were virtually treated the same as they were, but found that Maia's room was shared with only one other woman, and both the girls had their own dresser and rack to hang clothing on. They shared a small table, and a wood stove, and a pot of tea was boiling on the stove.

"Hurry up, hurry up," Maia sighed, pushing Alec in. Luke padded in swiftly and settled himself on Maia's bed. "We haven't got much time, and there's a lot of explaining to do."

"You can say that again," said Alec tersely, scooping Max up and depositing him on the spare bed. "Do you want to explain what just happened? Or maybe why you're talking to the dog? Or, maybe, why we're not running after Jace?"

"And how would running after Jace help?" Maia shot back. "Even if we knew where Jonathan was taking him, it would be impossible to overpower him without a plan."

"But what happened?" Max pressed, looking far too serious for a little boy.

"It's rather hard to explain," Maia said evasively. "You'd have to understand Jonathan to understand how he feels about Jace."

"How do you know anything about Jonathan?" Alec said quickly. "You're a serving woman in the kitchen; you've never been sent to the prince."

Maia gave Alec a long look. "Tell me, Alec, since you know so much, where have I been?"

"What do you mean?"

"Clearly, you've been keeping up on me, so, what do the slaves say?" Maia smiled when Alec just stared back. "Exactly. You don't know a thing about me, only that I work here. Only that I arrived here, companion to Magnus Bane, to serve the royal family."

"What are you getting at?"

"That," Maia said, nodding her head at something to the side of Alec.

Alec and Max both turned to where Maia was looking, and it was the bed opposite them. However, seated very comfortably on it, was not the great wolfhound, Luke, but a very ragged looking man. He had long, tangled black brown hair, a beard that looked like it hadn't seen a razor in months, and a pair of eyes that stared out of two hollowed sockets. The man's clothing was old and worn, patched in many places and fraying on the edges, the seams needed care and the color, no matter what it once was, was now a faded blue. When he sensed Alec and Max's eyes on him, he grimaced in a smile and gave a very weak bow.

"W-who are you?" Alec stuttered, unable to think straight. "_What _are you?"

"I'm a little hurt, Alexander," said the man in a hoarse voice. "I would have thought after all those times you would still recognize me when you saw me." When Alec and Max continued to stare at him, he shrugged. "Lucian Garroway, they called me once, but it's been a long while since I've laid claim to that name. It's just Luke, now."

"Luke?" Alec asked. "As in, Luke the _dog_?"

Luke smiled. "Well, wolf, is more appropriate."

"You can turn into a wolf?" Max piped up. "How?"

"I'm a werewolf, boy, surely you've heard of my kind?" He looked thoughtful a moment. "You were raised in the country, you must have heard my kind's cries in the night."

"Yes, but we were told the werewolves and the vampires and the warlocks and witches were driven out by Valentine," Alec said, drawing Max against him. "Your kind died out."

"No," Luke said with a sigh. "Valentine wanted us to die out, and he did all he could, but even he doesn't have the power he needs to exterminate us all. Which is unfortunate for him, since we are seeking or vengeance."

"Your vengeance?" Alec whispered.

"There's no time for that story," Luke said, turning to Maia. "What you need to know is that all the monsters you thought were dead, aren't, and neither are the shadowhunters that Valentine thinks are gone. A while back, we realized what Valentine was doing and fled, uniting under one banner. Since then, thousands of battles have been fought, small victories and small defeats, but nothing worthwhile. But this, this is our biggest move yet against the throne."

"You want to stop Valentine?" Max asked quickly, his eyes gleaming.

Luke smiled at the boy. "There is much you do not know, and much that must be told, and we don't have the time. Right now, we have to find Jace and we have to run. We thought we had more time, but it seems Jonathan has set the pace."

"We don't know where he is, Luke," Maia said softly.

"You know each other?" Alec asked, turning to the maid with a new look in his eye.

Maia grinned widely. "He's my alpha. I'm a member of his pack."

"You're a werewolf too?" Max exclaimed. He had always been rather fond of Maia and couldn't believe the girl was part wolf. "Who else?"

"No one else, as far as we know. Though, Magnus is a warlock…" Maia said in an offhand way. "We were the ones sent from the City of Glass."

"City of Glass?" Alec asked.

"No, time." Luke stood and stretched in a painful way. "We need to find Jace. Do you have any idea where they might have taken him?"

"Below," Max said softly. "I heard Jonathan say he was taking Jace where no light would reach him. I think he means below the castle. I've heard there are places down there…"

"There are," Maia said grimly. "Places no person should be taken, places where darkness still lingers. Worse yet, if Jace is down there, we can't get him out."

"Why?" asked Alec.

Maia and Luke exchanged dark looks. "Demons."

* * *

><p>"Wake up…" Jace rolled over. He recognized the voice. "I said, wake up, you filthy little…" Yes, Jace definitely knew the voice. "Are you really this pathetic?" Jace felt his fist ball up, but kept his eyes closed, waiting for Jonathan to move in closer. "The Angel knows what my father saw in you. You're hardly a man, let alone a shadowhunter." Jace swung his fist then.<p>

The satisfying feel of his knuckles contacting Jonathan's cheek bones drew a smile. However, the tug of a chain on his wrist was disconcerting. Jace sat up slowly, wary of another blow from Jonathan, but he didn't receive any. Jace felt only the tug of more chains and heard the rattle that echoed all around him; he examined his wrists and saw both bore cuffs that dug into his flesh. Small dribbles of blood oozed out of his wounds. Jace's eyes followed the chains attached to the cuffs and saw that they snaked along the floor, allowing him freedom of motion and then ended at the wall. Slowly, Jace turned to see the rest of the room around him.

He saw first, Jonathan, a few steps away and rubbing his cheek more in frustration than pain, and then the rest of what he assumed was a cell. The floor was made of cold stone, the wall behind made of stone, and the bars that composed the other three walls about Jace glowed with the familiar warmth of a stele. Beyond the bars, Jace saw nothing but darkness.

"I see sleeping beauty is awake," Jonathan smirked, drawing Jace's attention.

"Where am I?" Jace asked at once. He'd never seen or heard of this place, and had assumed the slaves slept in the lowest section of the palace.

"The basement," Jonathan shrugged, glancing about. "We don't bring many people here. It hardly serves any purpose to the Mundanes. My father used to use it for interrogation of the shadowhunters, but, since they're dead now, it goes mostly unused."

Jace took another look around him; aside from the darkness and the unmistakable chill, he couldn't tell why this would serve as any form of interrogation room. "I must admit, I'm a little surprised. After all I'd heard from Clary and all I've been hearing from a few choice members of the court, I'd have expected a…bedroom, at the very least." Jace sneered and shot Jonathan a searching look. "Perhaps I just get to die?"

"Not a chance," Jonathan said, his eyes dark. "Clary is a smart girl, far smarter than I give her credit for. It's interesting she warned you about it, seeing as she never associates with those men. I wonder how she knew…"

Jonathan looked contemplative and turned to face the shadows. Jace took the opportunity to take a closer look at the chains about his wrist. They weren't made of electrum wire, but they weren't going to give any time soon. "So, you're just going to keep me locked down here for the rest of my life? I guess it's not too bad once you get over the smell."

"So you noticed it?" Jonathan turned to Jace with a razor smile. "I hear it smells something terrible to the Mundanes, and to you, it must be rather vile. I, myself, can't tell the difference."

_Now that he mentions it, _Jace thought, sniffing the air subtly, and recoiling when the stench of death hit him. _It does smell vile, truly vile. _"What is this place?"

"I told you, it's the basement," Jonathan sighed. "If you're wondering what makes it smell that way, well, that would be your fellow companions. I think they will make themselves known soon; sometimes they're a little shy."

"What am I doing here, then? I would have thought you'd be trying to turn a pretty penny off me." Jace set his face, preparing for whatever Jonathan was going to say.

"As much as I hate to admit it, you're a formidable boy. You'd probably over power anyone but me, and you could certainly charm your way past a few of the court ladies who fancy you." Jonathan's eyes raked Jace's figure. "You're no use to me if I can't count on my customers getting what they want from you. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to see to your…shall we call it, attitude adjustment?"

"No time for me?" Jace asked, feigning despair. "I'm rather hurt, Jonathan."

"I've got a coronation to plan, and I'm pressed for time." Jonathan ran his finger along one of the bars. Jace noted how his hand came back drenched in some black liquid. "No, I'm going to have to hope my associates can handle you. My hope is that you'll be ready to work in no more than a week."

Jace flushed at the phrasing. "I've never been given to working."

"Oh, you will," Jonathan assured with another smile. "You see, my friends and I can be very convincing, and I think, for all your bravado, you'll break easily."

"You'd be surprised," Jace said carelessly.

"Maybe it'll take time, but I think you'll find your new profession tends to wear the soul and the will. I've brought you down here to subdue you long enough to get an offer on the table." Jonathan again ran his gaze down Jace's form. "It won't be hard; you're popular among the ladies and the men. However, those Mundanes don't understand the strength of a shadowhunter, so I'll have to make sure when you go before them, it's a severely diminished form."

Jace felt the chill of the cell more acutely, but didn't show it. "So, starving me and freezing me is going to do the trick. You're a stupider man than I thought, Jonathan."

"Silly boy," Jonathan purred. "Do you think my father broke the shadowhunters by starving them? No, the reason this particular place works wonders is its co-inhabitants."

Jace meant to ask what Jonathan was rambling on about, but the stench that had been turning his stomach intensified and he felt a shiver lace up his spine. Jonathan, watching Jace, was reminded of a hunting hound that had just caught a scent; Jace's eyes dilated and his muscles tensed in anticipation bred from years of shadowhunter training. If he'd had a weapon, Jace would have reached for it, but, as he was helpless, he clenched his fists again. The smell got worse and he thought he was going to retch.

"What is that?" Jace demanded, seeing Jonathan's amused face.

"Your handlers," Jonathan sneered, and his eyes darted beyond the bars.

Jace followed Jonathan's gaze and watched as the shadows around his cell began to churn. Things were moving slowly, taking shape here and there and then vanishing before reforming somewhere else. Jace knew what his instincts were telling him, but his eyes didn't want to believe what he was seeing.

Demons, hundreds of demons were swirling around the cell. Jace could hear clawed feet scratching the stone, could hear ragged, hungry breaths being drawn, and he could feel the terrible gazes of thousands of eyes watching him. They were circling him like wolves around cornered prey, and he knew the only thing holding them back was the bars of the cage. Suddenly, the warm glow of the bars didn't seem all that comforting or strong. It seemed a very poor protection against the monsters that pushed at the bars.

"What are they doing here?" Jace rasped. "Valentine hated demons, he killed them all."

"My father mastered all demons," Jonathan corrected. "True, using the Soul Sword he sent most beyond the circles of this world, but a few hundred we kept for ourselves, a rather ideal army, don't you think? And, of course, they serve quite a purpose down here."

Jace reeled from the nausea that threatened his stomach. "You just keep them locked down here? What if they escape the confines of the basement?"

"That's what the Soul Sword is for, but, when I'm king, that's going to change too." Jonathan turned to the shadows and performed a welcoming hand gesture.

"What's wrong with you?" Jace demanded. "I knew you were sick, but no shadowhunter treats with a demon."

"You're very right, Jace," agreed Jonathan. "But, I'm not shadowhunter, so I don't obey their foolish laws. These demons are as much my companions as angels are yours." The horror he saw on Jace's face made him smile wider. "You've so much to learn, little Jace."

"What are you?" Jace gasped, seeing one of the strands of shadow curl around his hand and then recede.

"Something great, something no pathetic Angel Boy could ever hope to be." Jonathan shook his head. "Well, Jace, I hate to be rude, but I've some matters to see to so I'll only be here a few more minutes. Any concerns about the new arrangements?" Before Jace could raise his voice, Jonathan held up his hand to silence him. "Mind you, this is only temporary housing. I'll find you some nice little room to stay in once you sort out your manners. A nice room with a nice bed."

Jace flushed, but continued anyway. "You don't really think these bars are going to keep these demons out?" Jace asked incredulously.

"I guess you'll find out, won't you?" Jonathan flicked the bar. "This is really your own fault, Jace. If you had just done as I'd told you, if you'd just been an obedient brother, I wouldn't have had to bring you here. But, I simply can't trust you with my clients. They have expectations, and they really don't want to pay for a fight."

Jace ignored the crude comments about his future. "At least give me a weapon. Something to protect myself with. I'm sure Valentine told you to give me a weapon. He's an honorable man."

"My father knows nothing of your current imprisonment." Jonathan saw the shock pass over Jace's face. "I mean, he knows my intentions toward you, but he doesn't know how I'll go about it. Not that it really matters that much longer."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see soon enough, boy," Jonathan sneered. "Well, I must be off. Try to relax while you're down here. You'll be a busy boy soon enough. Which reminds me," Jonathan laughed as he let himself out of the cell. Jace was shocked to see the demons simply move aside for him. "Do you prefer men or women?"

Though Jace knew he was trapped, though he knew he was about to be abandoned in the dark with only hundreds of demons for company, though he knew Jonathan had most certainly won this round, and it sounded like he was going to win a few more, Jace wasn't going to go down without a fight. Or, at least a few snide comments. "Personally, I prefer your sister."

Jonathan's face darkened and Jace knew he had struck a nerve. "You'll regret ever having stolen my woman, I'll see to that," he said before and turned and walked off.

Jace watched him going until the shadows and the demons consumed him; somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of a heavy iron door being closed firmly. The only light Jace had been left was a single torch that was fitted into the wall, and it flickered sadly, casting a weak glow on Jace and the nearest reaches of the cell. It didn't matter much to Jace, though, since he had no intention of getting anywhere near the bars. He knew at once that the circle of light was the safest place for him, and had pressed himself back against the solid stone wall.

_Just relax, breathe, you have to breathe, _Jace told himself firmly. _Don't look at them, pretend they don't exist, they can't touch you, so they don't exist._

It would have been a good strategy, but as if they sensed his thoughts, a few of the demons drew up to the glowing bars and struck at them. The glow flickered painfully and darkened, and though it didn't go out, it set Jace's nerves on end. He saw the unmistakable face of a demon, its eyes missing only to be replaced by large empty holes that oozed ichor, and a jaw that was unhinged so that it opened three times that of a man, and was home to hundreds of razor teeth. The arms were bent at awkward angles, and the fingers were as long as knives. They reached through the bars and beckoned Jace forward.

_The bars won't break, they'll hold. Those demons can't touch you. Don't think of them, think of light and the sun. Think of Woodend manor where you hunted. Think of Clary._

Panic had brought Jace right where he wanted. The idea of Clary was enough to relax his tensed muscles. He slouched against the wall and used the cold to force his mind to focus. He could see Clary, seated on the rim of the fountain in the courtyard. He could see her playing her instruments for him. He saw her wrapped in the blankets of their bed, her hair a wild tangle and her bare arms draped over his waist…

_You have too much to lose with her, _Jace reminded himself. _Whatever Jonathan has planned involves Clary, and you can't let him hurt her. You swore you wouldn't. _

All about him, demons prowled, making horrible noises and shapes with their shadows, and Jace forced himself to think of Clary. It worked to some extent, though Jace couldn't forget the cold, or the erratic beat of his heart, or the sickness that turned his stomach. It was going to be difficult, he knew, to be down here, but it wouldn't be forever. He had to remember that.

_Perhaps not forever, but what's waiting for me upstairs? _Jace wondered bitterly. He knew, and it was the worst part. _Which do you prefer, the plaything of demons or the plaything of the court? _Though it sickened him, Jace knew he would prefer to leave behind the cell and the demons for whatever the court might have threatened him with. _Besides, _he thought, _Clary could suffer Jonathan; I can certainly bear worse._

Jace curled up in a smaller ball and tucked his head between his legs. "It won't be long, it won't be long before Jonathan comes down to get you. That's what you have to wait for; wait for him to let you out then run. Run to Clary."

His voice didn't echo as he'd expected, but seemed to be absorbed by the lurking demons. There was a moment of silence, and then the creature who was pressing forward against the bars opened its mouth and a voice issued forth. "It's the waiting that's going to get to you, Angel Boy…"

* * *

><p>The feel of the wind beating against Clary's face was refreshing; she leaned into it and let her hair be pulled free and tossed back. Looking below her, down the edge of cliff they had passed a week ago on the way to Woodend, she saw the tree tops and felt her heart skip a beat in excitement. Magnus had told her not two days ago that when the time came, it was through the trees they would flee. Since then, she had come every day to the cliff face to stare down at them and wonder when she was going to vanish under their welcoming arms.<p>

"What's it like out there?" Clary asked Magnus. He had chosen to escort her that day, given that Isabelle had insisted she stay behind and mend some of Clary's gowns. Clary suspected that Isabelle was staying for a boy, and so didn't expect to find any gowns mended when she returned. "What's it like with no king to tell you what to do, with no court to watch you; what's it like to be free?"

Magnus gave Clary a long, appraising look. "Well, I wouldn't say you're free. There is a council who makes laws and organizes our attacks. Status is determined by your usefulness in the world, not by who you were born. As such, you're not going to be anything valuable."

Clary relished the idea. "I'd like that very much. I'm tired of being wanted only for my blood. I'd like to spend the rest of my life as a nobody with Jace."

"Well, perhaps not a nobody," Magnus corrected. "You have some value yet, but you're rather young to be tossed out into the field. The council will set you up for training and put you in some menial job."

"Like Isabelle?" Clary asked, curious.

Magnus laughed. "I'm afraid not. Isabelle has more experience in almost all areas of hard life, she'll be promoted just for being from a farm. You'll be working under her."

Clary wondered at the idea, and decided it would be better than spending the rest of her life enslaved to the court. "Will there be other shadowhunters?"

"There was a good number," Magnus said softly. "Valentine failed to kill many. I think he assumed that some ran off, or perhaps just assumed too much. Regardless, they have united with the Downworlders. It's a formidable force, but a small one. There is much work to do yet."

"I want to help," Clary said at once. "I want to help fight."

"Indeed you will; both you and Jace are a rare breed. Shadowhunter children are in short supply, and without the mortal instruments, we can't make more fast enough."

Clary had heard of the mortal instruments; she knew her father had them. "Is that part of the plan to defeat Valentine? Get the instruments back?"

Magnus shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, Clary; I've been away from the council a long time now. My job was to watch you as best I could, and keep an eye on Valentine's doings."

"Are you on the council?" Clary asked, surprised.

"I'm a _High Warlock_," Magnus said with a sniff. "Of course I'm on the council."

Clary smiled slyly. "I always knew there was something different about you." Again, Clary turned to the trees and the mysterious grey mist that obscured her view in the distance. "What's it like out there?"

"It's where the kingdom ends and the wilds begin. There's a path cut into the face of this cliff used for hunting; we'll take that road and follow the river to a waterfall. From there, I'll lead the way into the west until we come across the City of Glass."

"The City of Glass?" Clary asked, thinking the name sounded rather romantic.

Magnus gave her a look of shock. "Of course, I suppose your father never spoke much of the City of Glass…it's the ancestral home of the shadowhunters. Before Valentine conquered Idris, it was the capital. He razed much of it to the ground, but there remained a few well defended, well hidden temples where we make our homes. It was beautiful-in its day."

"It will be beautiful again," Clary said, a determined glint in her eyes.

Magnus was about to agree half-heartedly when the pounding of frantic footsteps silenced him. He and Clary both turned to find Isabelle running up the trail with her hair streaming behind her. Her face was pale as snow when she arrived, and she was clutching something in her hand. When Clary made to grab for it, she snatched it back and handed it to Magnus. Clary scowled, but remembered what Magnus had said about her future. It wouldn't do to anger her only friend.

"What is this?" Magnus asked, staring at the seal is recognized only too well.

"It came from a hunting falcon along with a message from my brother. He said you had to read it fast and burn it before someone saw it." Isabelle bit her lip. "I think something happened."

Clary snapped into action. "Is Jace okay?"

Magnus shot her a long look and carefully broke the seal. His eyes scanned the letter twice before he crumpled it up and it evaporated in a ball of blue flame. "We're leaving tonight."

"What happened?" Isabelle and Clary asked at once.

Magnus measured Clary's composure; it wouldn't do to have her panicking about Jace. "Jonathan has moved before we thought. He'll be summoning Clary back soon, if not tomorrow. We need to get you out of here."

"But what about Jace?" Clary demanded.

"There's been a slight complication with him. Don't worry, Lucian is taking care of it." Magnus seemed agitated; he began to lead them back to the manor house. "We need to get out of here as soon as can be; have the horses been resting well, Isabelle?"

"Yes, Magnus," Isabelle said in a small voice. "Magnus, what's going to happen to my brothers? Alec said they were with a man named Lucian who worked for the same people you did, but…"

"Alec and Max are going to have to run too," Magus brushed her off. "We'll all meet up in the City of Glass; don't think much on it, Isabelle. We have a long road ahead of us, and there isn't going to be time to think of these things. You have to be brave now."

At the manor house, Clary rushed straight to her room, Isabelle on her trail. She tossed herself on her bed and covered her eyes. "Isabelle, do you think they're okay? Do you think Jonathan has hurt Jace?"

Isabelle seemed unconcerned with Jace and stood by the window, staring out over the grassy fields and into the trees. Her thoughts were on Max, her little brother who had fallen in love with the idea of fighting, and Alec who would do anything if he thought it might help. She knew the only way to ever see them again was to summon her courage and escape into the wilderness with Clary and Magnus, but she dreaded the thought of leaving behind the only world she had ever known. Idris had been her home since she'd been born, leaving it would be leaving behind her life.

"Isabelle," Clary asked softly. "Will you help me pack my things?"

Isabelle turned to Clary for the first time with something less than kindness in her eyes. Clary suddenly seemed so childish to her; all she cared about was Jace, she didn't even seem to care that they were running from danger into danger. She didn't care that everything and everyone she had ever known was going to be taken from her. For once, Isabelle stared at Clary and thought how unprepared the girl was. "I really can't, Clary," she said coldly. "I have to go prepare my own things. Might I suggest you pack only the essentials, though? I do not think you will have much use for fine gowns and such where we're going."

Clary heard the note of coldness and accepted it; soon, she and Isabelle were going to be one and same. She didn't have the right to challenge her. "Thank you. I suppose I'll see you back here tonight, then?"

"Yes," Isabelle answered and left by the private stair. She didn't really have anything to pack, maybe some food to steal and some cooking utensils to take, but what she really wanted was the empty feeling in her chest to go away. Isabelle curved her lips up in a seductive smile and went to find the stable boy she'd been playing with earlier. With him, at least, she felt something other than mindless fear.

* * *

><p>"Five days is a long time to wait, boy…" hissed a voice from the shadows. "Perhaps you ought to start considering the alternative."<p>

Jace didn't bother answering the demon; he knew if he opened his mouth all he'd hear was a rasp anyway. Five days, had indeed passed, five days with no food or water, with scarcely any sleep, and a bitter chill in the air that refused to go. Jace had sequestered himself as near to the torch as he could, and had curled up beneath it to savor any of his body heat, but it was a useless endeavor. It wasn't a cold born of wind but of demons. It sapped the life from the living and left Jace shivering uncontrollably.

_It'll end soon; Jonathan will come soon, and when he does, you have to be ready. You have to fight back._

"Fighting won't get you very far, boy," said the demon, reading his thoughts. "Where will you run to, even if you do escape Jonathan?" Jace rolled over and counted stones in the wall. "You think to run, but you've nowhere to run to. You hope for a future that can't possibly exist. In the end, it is always the black abyss that awaits."

_Think of Clary. Think of how she smiles and laughs. Think about the feeling of her hand wrapped in yours and the way she'd wait for you every morning-_

"You're as bad as that princess," the demon sneered to a round of hissing that must have been demon laughter. "She was our guest once too, and we tore her little mind apart. She thought that she could escape the darkness, but it consumed her."

Jace closed his eyes. _They're lying. Clary was never down here. No father would send his daughter willingly to this…._

"It only took three days before she fell apart, and all the nasty little secrets she kept locked in her head spilled out. All those horrible sins of hers…She's lain with her brother…she liked it…that's why she was ashamed."

_Ignore them. It won't do you any good to argue. They can't touch you, so they'll try to get a rise from you. Try to feed off your emotions._

"Such awful things that girl did," said the creature. "She was certainly no angel. Do you think of it often, boy, the girl you love? The girl who betrayed her marriage oath with her own _brother_?" When Jace didn't answer, the creature moved closer. "Do you worry she preferred him to you?"

_It's not worth your time, Jace, _he told himself firmly. _Think of escaping, think of the feeling of sun on your skin when you're finally flee this forsaken place. Think of Clary when you finally hold her again. _


	22. Escape

**So, I've got some good news. I really want to finish up this story before my spring break starts and I have to study, so I'm determined to get the last chapter out by the end of the week. **

Escape

The fire had burned itself almost completely out when Isabelle returned to Clary's room with her pack over her shoulder and another slung on her arm, spilling over with food she had stolen from the kitchen below. When she saw Clary, kneeling before the fire, she gave a thoughtful pause.

_Where has my princess gone? _she wondered, not recognizing the girl who was before her.

Clary had changed out of her finery and chosen a simple blue work gown with a thick, laced bodice. Gone were the high heels, the layers of fabric, the satin, and the beading, to be replaced by laced boots and thick, plain cotton. Clary had apparently tugged the front of her hair back and tied it with a string. Isabelle, though, didn't think Clary looked diminished in her plain attire, simply different. She wasn't a spoiled girl raised in the lap of luxury; she was a hard woman. Isabelle realized that Clary finally looked like a shadowhunter, a woman who could fight, a woman who could hold her own in the world.

"Are you ready, milady?" Isabelle asked softly, not wishing to disturb Clary's thoughtful reverie. "It's going to be a cold night, do you have a cloak ready?"

Clary stirred and glanced at Isabelle. "I'm as ready as I'll every be," she said, and drew herself up to her feet. She crossed the room to the bed, and Isabelle saw that a cloak had been spread out, the last testament to Clary's past: Jace's fur trimmed cloak. Clary tossed it about her shoulders and tied it off, shooting a glance in the mirror on the wall. She thought she looked very mysterious and grown up, and not at all the girl she was. After a moment, Clary dug into her pack and withdrew a single, long dagger from it. She examined the blade once before tucking it into her boot.

Clary offered Isabelle a brave smile. "And you, Isabelle, are you ready?"

"It will be nice to see my brothers again," was all Isabelle said. "Magnus told me we are to head down to the stables at one. He'll be down there with the horses ready, and that if anyone asks, I am escorting you on a late walk. That you're ill from the pregnancy and he has told you to take the air the instant you feel ill."

Clary nodded. "What time is it?"

"Ten to one, milady," Isabelle said swiftly. She sat down on the bed and stared down at the well worn boots on her feet. They were fitted to her feet from years of wear, and, when she glanced at Clary's, saw how the girl shifted back and forth. Her boots were new, and, of course, uncomfortable.

"I think you should stop that, Isabelle," Clary said after a pause. "Stop calling me, 'milady'. It doesn't suit anymore. I'm simply Clary, now, wife of Jace Herondale."

Isabelle shrugged; Clary was right. "As you'll have it, Clary. Do you think it'll be different in the City of Glass? Do you think Alec and Max and I will fit in?"

"I think you'll be very much at home," Clary said, thinking of what Magnus had said. "I don't think it matters much if you're from a farm or a palace. I think all that matters is how brave you are."

At that moment, Isabelle didn't feel particularly brave, simple determined. She wanted to see her brothers again, to know that they were safe, and yes, to see that Jace was okay. Isabelle thought she and Jace were friends by that point; they had served Clary together, he had come for her when Jonathan took her, he had called her back to service when Clary dismissed her. Isabelle realized she would be most comfortable when she, Alec, Max, Clary and Jace were all together again.

"It's time to go," Clary murmured in a small voice. She looked at the door to her room as if it were holding back, not her own nerve, and it was Isabelle who had to open the door.

They left the manor house like field mice, sneaking down the halls. The girls made no noise, nor left any sign they had passed. They moved quickly, terrified that they might run astray of one of the servants, or worse, Hodge, but they met no one of their way out. At the doors to the yard, they were held up, realizing they were locked, but Clary flicked her stele out and placed an opening rune on the door. It swung forward on its own accord.

Isabelle and Clary raced through the dirt entrance, their eyes fixed on the stable at the end of the yard. When they reached the doors to the stable, there were no lights and no sound. Clary wondered if Magnus had gotten the time wrong, or if he had decided that they would leave tomorrow, but then a green fire sprang to life. At the end of stable, standing between three horses, was Magnus, holding a fire in his palm.

"Don't gawk, move!" he snapped, snapping the reins at them. Clary and Isabelle joined him and climbed into the saddle. Isabelle was pleased to find that she was now riding a young, jaunty mare who could give Clary's fine mare a run for her money. "You remember the road to cliff face? We're taking that to a hunting trail that cuts into the cliff. At the base of the cliff, we'll find a river. We'll be riding in the river to keep the dogs off our trails."

Clary nodded and was about to turn to Isabelle to make sure she'd heard, when a light burst through the open doors to the stable. Shocked, Clary twisted about to find none other than Hodge standing at the stables, his eyes dark and sad. He had no confusion as to the sight before his eyes, and regretted that he was going to have to stop the Princess.

"I'm sorry to have to be the one to find you here," Hodge said, drawing a sword from his hip. "I understand you don't wish to return to the palace, Clary, but I had hoped you wouldn't try to run."

"You don't understand, Hodge," Clary said simply, feeling the blade in her boot. "I can't go back, so I'm going to have to ask you get out of my way. I don't hold it against you."

"Princess," Hodge said, repositioning himself to block the door. "Please, get down from the horse, and I'll brew you some tea and we can talk about it-"

"Sorry, we just haven't got the time for tea," Magnus said loudly, and a bolt of green light flew at Hodge. It him squarely in the chest and he fell face forward in a heap. "Run!" Magnus cried, and kicked his horse into action.

The three shot past, the horses bounding over the prone figure on the ground. Clary tossed her hood up to protect her face from the cold wind that beat against her and glanced beside her. Isabelle was bent over the saddle, biting back a cry, and clutching at the reins desperately. Ahead of them, Magnus led the way, directing the horse determinedly down the dirt road and to the cliff face. When they reached it, Clary pulled the horse sharply, seeing nothing but blackness beneath her. Isabelle drew level to her.

"Clary, we have the go, what are you doing?" Isabelle looked behind her. She had no doubt that Hodge would wake soon, and the hounds would be on them then. "Hurry, follow Magnus down."

Magnus was already plodding his horse down the precarious path, and when he saw Clary hesitating, he drew his horse to a halt. "Clary, there is _no time _for this. The moment Hodge wakes up, he'll send the hounds out, not to mention that we still have to deal with whatever Valentine and Jonathan send after us. There's still a two days' ride before we reach the waterfall, and even then, we're not safe. Move!"

Clary urged the horse forward and began to follow Magnus's form before her. Isabelle brought up the rear, and again glanced over her shoulder. She wouldn't be comfortable until they were well beyond the borders of the kingdom, not until she safely tucked away in the City of Glass. She knew if they were caught, her life was as good as over.

At the base of the cliff was the river Magnus had mentioned; and they directed their horses into the flow. Clary looked over her shoulder and up the cliff; she saw no light and heard no sound, and thought they had escaped, but Magnus's urging sent a thrill down her spine. The line of trees approached and Clary drew her cloak tighter against her, the familiar scent of Jace filling her up. She wondered where he was, and what he would have done in this situation.

_Don't be foolish, you know exactly what Jace would do, _Clary reprimanded herself. As they passed beneath the line of trees and into the night, Clary drew her dagger from her boot and readied it. _This night it not half over and you have a long ride ahead. Be brave and be ready. You're a true shadowhunter now._

* * *

><p>"And how have you been?"<p>

Jace's eyes snapped open as the sound of the voice he hated more than anyone echoed around him. He rolled over from his view of the stone wall and spotted Jonathan waiting on the other side of the bars. When he caught Jace's eyes, a smirk slid over his face. It gave Jonathan extreme pleasure just to see Jace curled up before him. He couldn't explain why, but there was something more than just his usual hate, something more than he had ever felt before. He truly, deeply, felt a hunger for Jace's pain and fear and blood.

"Well, aside from the chill, it's been rather peaceful here. Very quiet," returned Jace, sitting up. He prepared for whatever Jonathan had next, though he had some idea it would involve pain. "I've had time to think a few things over."

"Oh?" Jonathan asked, interested. "And what have you discovered?"

"Your obsession with me has grown very possessive indeed," Jace said sharply, and then smiled when Jonathan's smirk turned to a scowl.

"Well, you'll be happy to know then, that I've decided to share you with my friends. No more keeping you all to myself." Jonathan watched what little smile there was on Jace's face drop. "I figure I've kept you down in the dark long enough. What do you think? Would you like to come back to the world of the living?"

Jace grimaced. Jonathan was certainly not making this easy for him. _Nice choice he gives you. Do you want to stay with the demons and have them torture you, or would you prefer the company of the dregs of nobility?_ "I hardly consider the lord and ladies, _the world of the living_."

"So you prefer your demons?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure they'd oblige you. I've spoken with them, and they tell me you're quite _interesting_ to have around. They say you curl up at night and _moan_. That you _beg _for an end. That it's just a matter of time before you break."

"You can't trust demons, you know. They're prone to lying," said Jace with a straight face.

Jonathan shrugged. "Ah, well, I am partial to them; so, you're saying you want to stay here"

_Demons or a long night? _"Take me up stairs."

"I'll remind you, little brother, you don't give orders here." Jonathan lifted his gaze in a challenge. "I am King of Idris. I am the master of demons and angels. All that is in this land belongs to me."

Jace bit back a sharp reply; it wouldn't do any good to the challenge him. Jace knew he needed a way out, he had to get to Clary, and the only way to do that was to play Jonathan's game. "Please, Jonathan, take me up stairs," he ground out.

Jonathan strolled along the cage walls, running his fingers over the bars. Wherever he touched, black blood dribbled down the bars and pooled on the floor. "Do you really want to go, Jace? I mean, you must realize what's waiting for you."

"Better there than here," replied Jace caustically and listlessly jerked his chain.

Again, Jonathan felt that strange hunger, a hunger more for Jace's fear than his blood. "Tell me, then. Tell me what you would prefer to the company of demons."

"You've got to be kidding," Jace hissed, his pale cheeks turning pink.

"I can just as easily leave you." Jonathan turned and began to walk in the other direction, the shadows swirling around him, whispering. "They want me to leave you to them. They say you glow like the sun, and they're hungry for your light. I'll give you to them, Angel Boy, unless you say it."

_Swallow your pride and think of Clary, _he ordered himself. _Don't be a coward; do what's right. _"I would rather be upstairs with some customer, than down here with these demons."

"I don't know, Jace, if I believe that," Jonathan said contemplatively. "You don't sound like you want it."

"Well, I do," he snapped back. "As much as I detest those air heads you call nobility, their company is better, _in any way, _than these demons."

Jonathan seemed to consider Jace's words carefully, all the while, stroking the darkness about him. After a few minutes in which Jace heard nothing but the frantic tempo of his own heart, Jonathan cleared his throat. "I suppose I can accept that, though, I must remind you, that any undesirable behavior can easily land you here."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jace grumbled, and rose to his feet. It was a mistake; since Jace had spent the majority of the week curled up with no food or water, his legs gave out almost at once, and he landed painfully on his knees. Jonathan's laughter mingled with the demons', and Jace thought they were very similar.

"I'm flattered you'd bow to me, brother," Jonathan said, and opened the door to the cell. He stood before Jace while he struggled to gain his footing. Jace was furious to note that even after his feet adjusted, he had lean against something to stand. "I wouldn't be too concerned, though; you won't be on your feet much longer."

Again, Jace felt his face grow warm, but he didn't care; the thought of escaping the prison was a very powerful driving factor. Jace reached out and took a very firm grip on Jonathan's arm to keep him up while Jonathan undid the chains. Outside the cell, the demons prowled about, showing their fangs and hoping that Jonathan was bringing the boy out for them. However, Jonathan just made a shooing gesture and they fell back. Jace was confused by the demons, how they seemed to make room for him as if he were an honored member of their kind. Jace, however, didn't get the same honor, and he was barely able to move past them. He felt a terrible cold that only demons could conjure, lacing up his spine and into his chest.

He saw the door in the distance and wished Jonathan would hurry, but he got the feeling that he was taking his time on purpose. The longer Jace spent with the demons, and the farther he was from the glowing bars of his cell, he felt what little energy was left in his muscles dissipate and he slumped further. Jonathan marched Jace up a long flight of stairs and tugged a door open.

The light that hit Jace's eyes was too much for him to bear and he closed them firmly. He felt Jonathan leading him somewhere, though he didn't know the castle well enough to tell which direction or what level. Almost at once, Jace's plans of overpowering Jonathan and running were quashed. He knew with a good meal and an hour or so before a roaring fire might give him the energy he needed to run, but now, having just been dragged out of a pit of demons, he didn't even have the blood beating fast enough from his heart to run.

Jonathan pulled Jace to halt outside a door just as the light became bearable to Jace's eyes. He opened a heavy door and shoved Jace in viciously, holding him now by his throat. Jace glanced about the room. It was small, with only a single window, desk, and bed. There was no hearth, just small gas lamps that lit the place. Jace's eyes darted the bed, to the door, and then the window. From the view of the sky, he could assume he was too high off the ground to jump and land safely.

"Make yourself at home, boy," Jonathan said and tossed Jace carelessly on the bed. When Jace made to rise Jonathan lunged at him with rope, and tied his wrists crossed behind his back. He looked at his handiwork and then struck Jace across the face. "Usually, I'd consider something a little more durable than rope, but you don't look up to a fight."

Jace didn't bother struggled against the rope that held him. He knew without trying that his body wasn't up to the struggle yet. His real hope lay in the idea that while he couldn't overpower Jonathan, he could very easily overpower any man or woman who came for him. He just had to hope they would untie the cords so he wouldn't have to maneuver out of them too.

Jonathan gave Jace a once over. He wasn't sure if he'd left the boy long enough with the demons. He knew that, when his father had interrogated the others, after three or four days they had succumbed to a strange fever, brought about by being in such close proximity to the demons. They would have horrible cold fits, and be violently ill, normally resulting in death. Jace, however, who had been down there for a week, showed no outwards signs of the disease except a sheen in his gold eyes that spoke to the fever, but aside from that, he seemed well.

_He's weak enough, and you'll only keep him above for a few hours. After that, take him back down for another few days with the demons, _Jonathan decided. He smirked once more at Jace and left, locking the door on his way out.

Jace waited a few minutes with bated breath, wondering if Jonathan had already gone to collect whoever had paid for his company. He tugged uselessly on the ropes, and though they strained and the bed creaked under the force applied, the ropes didn't give. It made Jace wonder just how weak he was, he had never been so weak he couldn't break rope holding him. Carefully, Jace pulled himself onto the bed, taking weight off his legs.

Unbidden, an image rose of himself completely helpless to the situation at hand, but he pushed it quickly from his mind. He wasn't so helpless yet as to give up all hope. He still had his charm and his wit about them, and they were almost as good a knife, which, he could easily obtain if the ropes were gone. He practiced breathing, practiced smiling seductively, practiced making himself look harmless so as to lull whatever Mundane came for him into a sense of peace. He tried moving his legs around, getting blood back into them, as he prepared for his escape. He was just about to try the ropes again when he heard a sound outside the door.

It was a voice, not Jonathan's, and it sounded surprised. When Jace listened closer he detected the low baritone of a man, and growled low in his throat. Of course, Jonathan would have found some man. He strained a little more, searching for the source of the voice, and was shocked to hear another man's voice, this one a little raspy, and speaking quick.

_Two men? _Jace paled at the thought. Fighting one would be somewhat easy, but having to deal with another who might run for Jonathan was going to prove a problem. Again, he tugged at the bonds.

The volume of the voices grew, and Jace thought he might have heard some anger in one, and there was something low, like a snarl. He wondered if someone had brought a dog. The first man's voice rose in a frantic pitch, but was then silenced effectively. Jace wondered what was going on outside his door and nervously glanced at the window. There was a heavy thump from beyond the door, and then he thought he heard the lock click. Frozen in his spot, Jace waited to see who he was going to have charm that evening. What he saw, was almost like a blow to the gut.

"Alec?" he rasped.

It was, indeed, Alec, and he seemed a little uncertain at the sight of Jace bound to the bed. He blinked and his eyes darted about the room, searching for the imposing figure of Jonathan. The last thing he thought he could handle was the prince, especially given his thirst for blood. When he didn't see Jonathan lurking in any corners, Alec entered, heading directing for the ropes holding Jace.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he worked. "Did Jonathan hurt you?"

"Just my pride," ground out Jace, rubbing one wrist as it sprang free. "What are you doing here? If Jonathan finds out you did this he's going to kill you."

"By the time Jonathan finds out what I've done, we'll be gone," Alec answered curtly, and cut the other rope. With both of his hands free, he pulled Jace to his feet and glanced behind him nervously. "I don't know how long that man is going to be out for, so we should hurry. We have to get down to the docks."

"What do you mean 'we'?" Jace asked, peering through the door. "Do we have company?"

"Actually," said a voice through the door. "Yes."

Jace recognized the voice as the raspy one he had heard earlier. "Can I ask, then, who's running off with me?"

"Why does no one recognize me?" asked Luke, entering and looking distinctly ruffled. "I've been living in the same room as you for more than two months, and you stare like you've never seen me."

It only took Jace a moment for the truth to click. The wolf hound who lived too long to be normal. The snarl on the other side of the door. The smell of wet dog. "Luke?"

"We're taking you to the City of Glass tonight. Max, and Maia are waiting down by the dock." Luke glanced over Jace. "You're pale."

"Yeah, well, a week with demons will do that to you," Jace snapped back, leaning against Alec to stop from falling. "Not that'd you'd know much about it."

"You'd be surprised," was all Luke said, striding past Jace and pulling the blankets off the bed. He wrapped Jace in one and then scooped the boy up to loud protests.

"I don't need you carrying me," Jace growled.

"Jace, we really don't have the time for you to limp after us, making all kinds of racket. The only way we're getting out this castle in one piece is through stealth," said Luke, ignoring Jace's hands lashing out. "You're in no shape to be running about; you probably have the shadow sickness."

"Shadow sickness?" Jace asked, as Luke stepped out the door and over the crumpled body of a fat lord who had heckled Jace the day of his imprisonment. Jace frowned at him and secretly thanked the Angel for lucky chance. "That's not even a thing."

"Yes, it is," Luke replied, leading Alec out of the hall by a back way. He seemed to know where he was going, so Jace didn't bother checking the way back. "Shadowhunters who spent too much time around demons developed a fever that could kill them. You have the onset of it. It's why you're having a hard time walking."

Jace scowled; anything that left him unable to fight, was, in his mind, a capital offense. "I'll kill Jonathan."

"Possibly you will," agreed Luke, and then shushed both Jace and Alec.

The journey from the room where Jonathan had been keeping Jace was a fast one, and before long, they came before a door that opened to one of the gardens by the castles. Jace looked up and saw that the sun had set, and evening was falling in. Obviously, the court was at dinner, which accounted for the lack of people as well as the silence of the walk through the castle. The sight of the sky above Jace's head was enough to make him gasp, and his heart beat faster. Those nights and days in the basement, had almost convinced him that he never would feel the wind blowing through his hair again. Jace breathed in the smell of the fall wind. Across the grassy hills that sloped down to the river, and Jace spotted two small, cloaked figures waiting on a wooden dock. In the river bobbed a small boat.

"We were starting to worry," Maia said the moment Luke was hearing distance. "When we saw Jonathan draw that man aside we thought we were too late. I take it the little princeling is all well, though?"

It took Jace a moment it was Maia who was speaking, and another moment to realize she was referring to him. "I'm not a prince," Jace said fiercely.

"Well," Maia said, giving him a once over. "Not anymore. Now you're just a rebel on the run with two werewolves and two ex-slaves, aren't you?"

"Everyone into the boat," Luke said before Jace could respond. "Maia, take my cloak and put it down in the base. I'll put Jace on it. We'll have to keep his face hidden till we're well out of settled parts."

Jace felt like a package as Maia tucked the cloak into the prow of the boat and then Luke curled Jace up in it, hiding his face beneath the rim of the boat. Though Jace wanted to argue, he felt very cold all of a sudden, and shivered, drawing the blanket Luke had wrapped him in tighter. He wondered if Luke had been right about the sickness, and then wondered if he was in any danger of it.

"Where are we going?" Jace croaked as Maia sat Max on her lap and Alec and Luke settled in. The boat left shore with burst of energy, and the river picked them up. "Are we going to get Clary?"

Luke laughed to himself. "Always with Clary, aren't you? No, Clary and Magnus and Isabelle are going to be meeting us at the City of Glass. They're taking a different route, one that runs through the woods. We'll be staying on the river for the most part. Much faster this way."

_The City of Glass, _Jace wondered, images bubbling up in his mind. He could remember his mother telling him tales of the City of Glass when he was a boy. A beautiful city made a magic glass that kept demons out and protected shadowhunters. She had spoken of it softly and with regret, as if she wished to see it herself, but never could. _The Citadel of Light._

"Are you sure they're leaving?" Jace asked at once. "Are you sure Jonathan hasn't got Clary?"

"They left Woodend two days ago," Luke answered gruffly. "I have the message from Magnus saying they escaped and are on the move. Jace be quiet now, you're very well known through most of Idris, and we're not even out of settled parts yet. You will have to hide."

"Figures," Jace muttered. "I escape the dungeon and then just chucked in the dark of a boat." It would have been a very bitter statement, had Max not suddenly laughed. Jace smiled up at the boy, though he felt a headache coming on. "At least someone's happy."

"Of course," said Max at once. "You still have to teach me to fight. You promised."

* * *

><p>Three days they'd been going, and the cold wind hadn't let up. Clary leaned over her saddle farther, hoping to protect her ears from the chill, and was met by the smell of her horse. It wasn't too pleasant. When she sat up straighter, she saw that Isabelle had been watching her, and she smirked a little.<p>

Since they'd fled, Magnus had stopped consulting with Clary almost completely, and had turned to Isabelle for talk. The two seemed to have countless things to say on the weather, on the horses, on the roads, on anything that Clary didn't. She had at first found it peaceful to have nothing and no on to answer to, but she now felt loneness settling in, and she wished faintly that Isabelle was still her friend.

_She is still your friend, but now, she's not being forced to be pleasant around you, that's all, _Clary reminded herself wickedly, and thought of the first conversations she'd had with Jace. Was Isabelle really her friend?

Clary now felt truly out of her element, having never been allowed to leave the castle, she had no knowledge that seemed useful. She was certainly good with a knife, but little good it did tucked in her cloak. She had to content herself just to ride and be hopeful that soon the journey would be over and she would be in the City of Glass. Often, she thought of Jace, and hoped he too was on his way to meet her.

"Are we that far out?" Clary asked politely to Isabelle, hoping to win a little bit from the girl.

Isabelle clicked her tongue. "Today, if the weather holds, we should arrive at the waterfall, from there, it's only a day or two ride to the City of Glass. Magnus seems to know the way very well."

"I'll be more than ready for that day," Clary grumbled.

"Of course," Isabelle said, but it didn't seem like she wanted to talk. Her eyes were far away, and she was thinking of something else.

Though Clary tried to engage her a few more times in conversation, Isabelle seemed implacable and more than content to ignore her. So she urged her horse up to Magnus, who was mumbling to himself and watching the way the sun fell. She pulled level with him and glanced at his face.

"Isabelle says we're not that far from our destination."

Magnus stirred. "Well, two days does seem short to those like us who have been riding. Why, are you ready to leave the saddle?"

Clary sighed. "More than ready."

Magnus chuckled darkly. "I don't know if what you'll find at the City of Glass will be much better. Horseback riding will seem a treat compared to your training that is to come."

"Valentine trained me," Clary said darkly. "I don't think there is much more to learn."

"I'm not talking about swordplay," returned Magnus, and then kicked his horse into action.

Later that day, they heard the thunderous roar of a waterfall, and though Clary wanted to stop for a break, Magnus urged them on. For two more days, they rode, never ceasing except for four hours a night of rest. The forest grew thicker and trees more dense, and Clary began to suspect that they might never leave the woods. She was more and more silent, sensing Isabelle's distance, and Magnus's preoccupation with their trail, and she almost wished that something would happen. Anything to break the stillness.

Finally, as the second day after the waterfall drew to a close, Magnus paused before the base of a hill. He seemed very pleased. "Well, I'd like to announce that we're here."

Clary and Isabelle glanced about. "I was expecting a bit more…city," said Clary, and was happy to hear Isabelle laugh.

"Smart," Magnus answered. "If you top this hill, you'll look down into the valley where the City of Glass rests."

Both Isabelle and Clary's eyes were glowing, and as one, they sent their horses racing up the slope. Clary, who a fair bit lighter than Isabelle arrived first, and she drew her horse sharply when she looked down on the valley. She had been expecting towers and buildings, roads and lawns, a bright jewel of civilization. However, what lay before her was no jewel.

The City of Glass was broken. There were towers, but they were black as night, and there were houses, but they were shambles. She could just spy a winding road, but it seemed old and in disuse. Though Magnus had warned her that it had been razed, she hadn't fully understood what that had meant; now she saw.

"Welcome home, Clary," Magnus said as he drew level with her.


	23. Homecoming

Homecoming

They had been on the river for three days and Jace was sure he was going stir crazy. He wouldn't have minded the mindless, numbing journey through the cities and country sides if only he could have been doing something, but, Jace was still confined to the bowels of the boat, wrapped in a blanket, with no company but Max. True, Jace had to admit that he didn't feel exceptionally well, and that he probably wasn't strong enough to continue paddling for more than a few hours, but at least then, he could have a fresh breeze on his face and something more interesting to look at than the timbers that composed the boat floor. However, Max was interesting company, and good for a conversation or story. The boy had taken a liking to Jace, and found any reason to sit beside him and talk.

"How long, Luke, before I can sit up?" Jace groaned.

Luke just sighed. "We'll be into the forest by tomorrow; we can stop robbing the world of your face then."

"I'm glad you realize what a crime you've actually committed," Jace said conversationally. "You're almost as bad as Jonathan in that respect."

Max laughed. He had never liked Jonathan, and to hear someone cut the prince down was good. Alec shot his brother a dark look, but Jace just rolled his eyes. "I don't think you should be tossing around phrases like that until we're well out of his reach," said Alec.

"Alec, really, what's the prince going to do now?" Jace might not have seen where they were, but the amount of trees in proportion to the roof tops he had seen had increased severely over the last day, and he knew just by the smell in the air, they were entering the outskirts of civilization. "We're miles away, and Jonathan has no way of tracking us."

"He has demons," Alec urged, looking to Maia and Luke for support. "He could send them after us."

"He'd be a fool to," Luke replied softly. "His demons are strong, but Jonathan doesn't have the control over the powerful ones who could really do us harm. Only Valentine controls the Soul Sword, and so, though Jonathan might release them, no greater demon would do his bidding. The best he could do was send a few scouts after us, and I promise you, two werewolves and a shadowhunter are more than capable of handling those."

Jace had decided he liked Luke. True, as a wolf, the man had given him no small amount of trouble, constantly harassing him, but Jace liked the man. Luke had a calmness about him, a sense of self that was deep-seated in knowledge and strength. Though Jace hadn't seen him fight, he got the sense that Luke would prove useful with a blade or his claws. That, and the fact that Luke had made no comment on Jace's recent imprisonment or his uncommon ailment; the werewolf could easily sense it was Jace's pride on the line, and knew not to push it.

"Besides, Jonathan has no way of knowing where we're going," Maia piped up. "I'm sure he'll suspect that Jace is going to Clary, but Clary has long been gone from Woodend. He'll have no way of knowing where we're running to. And the very idea of a rebel movement in the City of Glass hasn't even begun to cross Valentine's or his darkest nightmares." Maia glanced at Jace and frowned at his pale color; they had been out in the clean air for three days, and Jace hadn't gotten any better. "Though, I think the sooner we get there, the better off we're going to be."

"I'd like to see my sister," Max said at once. "I want to tell Isabelle all about our rescue, and I want to hear about her escape. I bet she was brave, Isabelle was always brave."

Luke smiled at the boy. "Bravely comes from the most unlooked for of places; even a farmer's daughter has it deep within her. I'm sure you sister has much to share."

"How far is it?" Max pressed. He was a young boy, and young boys didn't like being cooped up for days at a time.

Luke glanced about him. "Not far, Max, not far now. By tomorrow we'll be to the edge of Idris, and from there, we'll abandon the boat and go on foot for a day or so more."

"We're walking?" Jace croaked.

"No," Luke said after a beat. "Maia and I are walking. You, Alec, and Max will be riding. You're in no shape to go for a romp through the woods, and Alec and Max will be too slow."

"Riding a wolf?" Max gasped, his eyes widening with excitement.

Maia giggled. "Don't get too used to it, wolves don't hand out rides to just anyone."

Max pushed down his smile, trying to look mature. "Then we'll be to the City of Glass? What will happen once we get there?"

Luke and Maia glanced back and forth. It was Luke who spoke. "Well, Jace will have to meet with the Clave, and he and Clary will begin training again. You and Alec and Isabelle will probably be trained as well in minor swordplay."

"Some rebellion," Jace snorted.

Luke gave him a meaningful look. "We've been dormant a while, yes, but with you and Clary back, we'll have something to work with."

"What do you mean?" Jace was intrigued.

"Nothing for right now," Luke returned, and Jace thought he heard a distinctly angry tone to his voice. "We can't get ahead of ourselves."

The rest of day stretched out, and Jace wished he could sit up. His fever hadn't broken and he still had horrible chills that laced his spine, and he thought a breeze on his face would ease the burning. Though he mentioned the fever to Luke, Luke had simple said that he clearly wasn't dying, and Luke didn't have the skills to cure it. He had given Jace a sad smile and asked him to suffer with it as best as he could. Jace had since pretended he was fine around Alec and Max, but as that night set in, Jace determined to sit up and splash some water on his face. As he did so, his world turned and he pitched sideways. Maia, fast as her werewolf skills allowed, propped him up, muttering about hard-headedness. However, Jace was right: the breeze felt good.

As the next day set in, they left behind what civilization there was, and the river picked up speed. They no longer needed the paddles, and their small boat twisted and turned through trees and hills. Jace, who had spent his childhood at Woodend, couldn't even begin to guess where they were, and looked around himself in confusion. As the day ended, Luke directed them to pull the boat over to the riverbank, and Max began to twitch in excitement. That night, Luke and Maia broke the wooden boat into shards and they used it to burn a good fire, and eat their first warm meal in days.

The following day brought them to the foot portion of their journey, and Max was practically bouncing in excitement. "We're riding werewolves! Can I ride with you, Jace?"

Alec's mouth dropped. Though he had considered Jace a friend by now, he didn't think the ex-duke was all too fond of farm children. Jace had simply shrugged. "Why not? I'm lighter than Alec, so it will probably be better than you and him on one." Max was delighted.

Luke and Maia changed, and Jace noted that Luke was bigger now, and that he seemed to have some control over his change. For a wolf, Maia was actually quite beautiful, with a long glossy brown coat and glowing eyes. Carefully, Alec helped Jace to sit on Luke, and then lifted a squirming Max up to join him; Alec climbed on Maia, and they shot off into the forest.

Jace discovered almost at once that riding a werewolf was nothing like a horse, and he knew which one he preferred. Luke's legs churned beneath him, almost unseating him every time he had to jump something. His coat was long enough to grip onto, but Jace had the distinct impression that twisting Luke's coat wasn't a very good idea. He glanced over and saw that Alec had wrapped his arms about Maia neck, and realized it was the only way to ride. Carefully, Jace hooked his arms around Luke's think ruff and tucked his face into the hackles. Behind him, Max was clinging to his waist, and staring around himself in awe.

_Who are you kidding? You would have been more thrilled if your father had bought you a wolf instead of horse to ride, _thought Jace with a grin to himself.

For a day they ran, not stopping as the sun set and forest about them turned to darkness. Jace knew just by looking about that they were well beyond the boundaries of Idris. Somewhere, he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he was now beyond the reach of Valentine and Jonathan, but he wouldn't be content until he knew Clary was with him. Jace knew that if he arrived and Clary wasn't there, he would go back to Idris just to get her.

As the sun rose on the next day, Jace stirred from the faint sleep he'd slipped into, and saw something glinting in the distance. He sat up straighter, waking Max from his sleep, and heard himself say, "Luke, what is that?" Luke tossed his head back in a howl, but that was all.

As they drew nearer and nearer the glint, Jace saw the ground drop away before him and realized they were approaching a cliff. Luke's pace began to slow, and the glinting took on a form, and when they stopped Jace found himself looking down on a valley, surrounded on the other sides by steep hills, and nestled in its base, was a city.

From his vantage point, Jace could see towers made of glass that were dark. He saw buildings, most of them in ruin, and a single road that curved here and there to the very heart of the city. Though the city was broken, and Jace felt it almost as a physical thing, there was another feeling stirring in his heart. This was his home. This was the place his ancestors had come from, this is where they had made their home, this was where his past lay.

_And, of course, Clary is down there somewhere,_ he added to himself.

"Do you want us to get off and walk the rest of the way?" Jace asked Luke, but Luke shook his furry face and launched himself off the cliff edge. It was treacherous journey down the cliff face, and Jace knew the only reason he wasn't dead was because he was on a very capable and very graceful wolf. When they landed, Luke and Maia again set off at a tireless pace, but Jace knew they were both wearing down. Luckily, their journey ended quickly, and they approached the gates to the city.

Jace carefully dismounted from Luke and lifted Max off with him; Alec came over and picked up a very tried Max, and they waited while Luke and Maia changed back. The two wolves looked wane, but there was a determination in their step, and it wouldn't due to collapse here on the very threshold of city.

They small group began to pick their way through the city. Jace's eyes were everywhere, on the road that had grown over with weeds and grass, on the river that flowed everywhere with dark water, on the beautiful houses with their sad broken windows and crumpled roofs. He saw libraries that were empty, remains of books littering the ground before them. He saw large halls where he guessed students had trained. He saw a large, academic looking structure he thought was a school. He saw so much, but none of it seemed to register with him as home. This was the capital of Idris, but in such a sad state, it was a stranger to him.

"I thought every shadowhunter knew their home?" Jace asked in a rasp to Luke.

"The City of Glass is broken, and you feel it in your soul, but it is still your home. With time, you will feel right here." Luke looked about him sadly. "I admit, though, it's not a very nice welcome."

"Where are we going?"

Luke pointed ahead. "To the inner city circle. The entrance down into the tunnels is hidden where the Clave used to gather. We're almost there."

Jace swallowed and continued to follow Luke though his legs were still weak. They came to large opening surrounded on all sides by enormous houses. Directly across from them was a towering building, statues of the Angel flanking the entrance. Luke led them past a dead fountain and up the steps into the Clave. Max, tucked in Alec's arms, stared around in wonder at the lavish interior, the monuments to the Angel and the beautiful decorations.

They eventually came to large circular room with hundreds of chairs. Luke took them to the center of the room where another statue of the Angel rested. He leaned against the statue, slumping in his weariness. Jace felt wide awake, like a shock had passed through him, and he kept expecting a figure to emerge. However, they continued to wait, Max in awe, Alec contemplatively silent, and Maia and Luke panting. After almost ten minutes, a groan made Jace jump, and he turned in a flash to the statue, shocked to see that the base was falling back to revealed a dark hole. He leaned closer, waiting, watching…

The first thing Jace saw, and it lifted the weight that had been resting on him for weeks, was a very familiar red head. "Jace!" Clary cried, launching herself from the hole and into Jace's arms.

* * *

><p>Hours later, Clary found herself seated on the end of an old wooden bed, watching while Magnus administered some treatment to Jace's illness. "What is the shadow sickness?"<p>

"A fever," Magnus said brusquely. Since their arrival four days prior, he had been in and out of council meetings, with very little sleep or food. The only reason he had taken the time to treat Jace was that both Clary and Isabelle had begged him. "It's caused by prolonged exposure to demons. Normally, a shadowhunter would die from the fever three or four days after contracting it. Jace seems to make quite an exception."

"Well, I am exceptional," agreed Jace, winking at Clary.

"You're just damned lucky is all," Magnus said shortly. "While shadowhunters can fight demons, suffer their poison, and spend time around their bodies. Prolonged exposure isn't something your kind is meant for. You're supposed to be able be around them long enough to kill them, not settle down and make friends with them."

"How long will Jace be in bed?"

"A day or so and he should be back on his feet." Magnus gave Jace a once over. "Though I'm sure you'll find some way to waste your time while you're on bed rest."

"I can think of a thing or two," agreed Jace, shooting Clary a look.

Magnus rose, snapping his fingers at Clary. "He's all yours now. Make sure you give him the potion I made once every four hours, keep a cool cloth handy to fight the fever, make sure he gets at least two more meals, both with some form of meat, and expect a long night of tossing and turning; it's rather warm in this tiny room. Oh, and no matter how hot he says he is, keep the fire stoked high. There should be some wood down the hall you're allowed to take."

Clary blinked once, taking in the orders as fast as Magnus had given them; she nodded faintly. "Is no one else coming…?"

Magnus shrugged. "I'm sure you'll have company, but as for the care giving, no. He's your husband, and your responsibility now. I'm going to bed; I haven't had a wink of sleep in two days."

Clary performed a polite bow. "Thank you, Magnus, for all your help," she said, and held the door open for him as he left.

"By the Angel, what happened to the princess I married?" Jace asked. "Opening doors and bowing for a warlock?"

Clary returned to Jace's side, wet cloth in hand. "Well, it's certainly a change; I hope you don't mind overmuch." Clary glanced down at her plain dress.

Jace reached out and caressed Clary's face. "I really don't give a damn what you're wearing; I never gave much thought to clothing anyway, it always gets in the way."

"How is it that despite everything, you've still managed to hold on to that crude humor of yours?" laughed Clary, and began to dab at his face.

"Another of my endearing qualities," Jace said simply. "So, do you think you can tell me what's happened since our separation now that I'm not on the-what did you call it?-the _verge of death_?"

"Jace, you couldn't even stand when I found you!" Clary cried. "What did you expect me to think? I knew you had been left alone with Jonathan, that's all. I had no clue what he might do-"

"Fear not, little one," Jace sighed, and pulled Clary down next to him. "I was far more worried about you. I'm sure Jonathan was very annoyed by my lack of self-concern. It really threw quite a wrench in his plans to scare me."

Lying beside him, Clary could hear the beat of Jace's heart; it was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. "Woodend was beautiful. I very much liked living there."

"Maybe, when all this is over, we'll go back." Jace drew Clary up into his arms. "I always liked it there."

"I'd like that," Clary murmured, and Jace tossed the blanket up over her too. He tucked her against him, like he'd been dreaming of doing, and she curled up against him. "I've missed this."

"Me too," he murmured, and the two fell asleep.

It was like this, wrapped in each other's arms, that Isabelle came upon them. She was in a much better mood than she had been, and had come to apologize to Clary for her shortness. She'd meant to explain everything, how worried she'd been about Max and Alec, but the sight of two stopped her in her tracks. She'd been serving Clary so long now that she thought she would never see the girl sleep peacefully, but that was how she was then.

What surprised her even more was that Clary was content. She and Jace now shared a single room, a single bed, a small hearth, and one trunk to hold all their belongings, and yet she seemed not to care. It spoke much to her character that she could lose so much and still be so happy. Isabelle turned to leave, but Max came pelting past her, having not been allowed to see Jace in almost a day.

"Max, no-" Isabelle began, but it didn't matter.

Jace's eyes snapped open at the sound of Isabelle's voice, and he unconsciously moved himself to a more protective position about Clary, but when he saw it was Max coming at him he relaxed. Clary, who had woken not a moment after Jace, sat up; she spotted Isabelle standing in the door and smiled widely at her. Max came to a halt at the base of their bed, eyes shining.

"I just saw a pack of werewolves!" Max crowed by way of greeting. "Isabelle and I were at the stables with the horses and group of them came in, shaking their coats and they had fangs and claws and-"

"Max, they just woke up, leave them alone," Isabelle sighed, scooping Max up and seating herself on the trunk at the foot of their bed. "I'm sure it's been a long couple of days."

"Not as bad as you think," Clary said, and she pulled herself from the bed with a dark look at Jace. "You stay there."

Jace raised one eyebrow, but settled himself up against the headboard. "So, what do we own the pleasure of your visit?"

"Well, Max was going on about seeing you, and I haven't seen Clary in a few days, so I thought we'd come down to see how you two were." Isabelle watched as Clary busied herself stoking the fire and tossing another log on it. "I'm not used to this place, and I thought it might be good to see old friends."

"It's so _big_," Max breathed. "I can't believe all this was under a city."

It was true, of course. An entire city, beneath the city, safely tucked away from unwanted eyes. There were stables for horses, fresh water that slunk down through a few well-fed streams, a library, and thousands of rooms. The only thing anyone every found wanting was light; they were far enough beneath the ground that light couldn't reach them, and the city was lit with countless lamps and spells and runes. Somewhere in here, Clary knew there was council that planned attacks on Valentine, but she had never found her way there, or met anyone who knew the way.

"It seems the shadowhunters expected an attack or two," Clary agreed.

"Do you think there's going to be a war?" Max piped up, eyes gleaming. "I want to learn to fight! I want to fight against Valentine and his demons."

"Max, if there is a war, you certainly won't be apart of it," Isabelle sighed.

"You sound just like Alec," Max whined.

"Speaking of Alec, where has he gotten to?" Jace asked as Clary offered him some of the potion Magnus had prepared. It had a bitter taste, and he scrunched his nose as he drained it.

"Off somewhere with Magnus, I think," admitted Isabelle. "He offered to work as an assistant or something to repay Magnus for seeing me safely here and healing his arm all those months ago. Honestly, I don't think a warlock wants a boy like Alec hanging on the bell all day."

"You might be wrong about that," said Jace with a sly smile at Clary. "Well, it can't hurt to have connections with a high warlock, and certainly not one who sits on the Clave."

Isabelle shrugged delicately. "I've been admitted to the school here," she said suddenly, watching Clary's face. "Not for runes or the like, but to learn how to fight and read and do calculations and such."

"That's excellent," Clary said at once. "You and I can practice sparring; I was always dreadful with a sword."

Isabelle's back straightened a little and she lifted her chin. "Maybe we'll have a class together, or perhaps you'll work in the kitchen with me. I could teach you how to cook."

"I'd like that," Clary agreed, and she really would. "It's time I learned some useful skills; I never understood why my father had me learn three instruments. You couldn't kill someone with a song."

"Well, if your voice were dreadful…" Jace began, but Clary silenced him with a sharp look.

"Have you been summoned before the council?" asked Isabelle, changing the subject swiftly. "I've heard gossip from all over; you two are all anyone is talking about. The daughter of Valentine and her husband-"

"Wait," Jace cut in, looking scandalized. "I'm just '_the husband of Valentine's daughter_'? I mean, no mention of my heroism, wit, or stunning looks? I'm famous by _association_ only?"

Isabelle and Clary laughed. "I'm afraid so," sighed Isabelle. "But still, everyone is talking about you. They all want to know who you are, if you're as skilled at Valentine, if you know all about his armies and secrets."

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way," Clary murmured softly. "I don't want to be Princess Clarissa Morgenstern, daughter of Valentine. I just want to be Clary Herondale. I just want to be normal."

"But you're not," Jace replied, taking her hand and squeezing. "You remember the time you showed me how you made a rune to lock the door? That's not normal. You can _make _runes, Clary; no one is supposed to be able to do that."

Something in Clary's mind clicked into place. "Jace, I meant to tell you, Hodge mentioned something to me over dinner one night. He said that my father used to give your mother a potion for her morning sickness, but Magnus never knew anything about it. Do you think whatever he changed in me, he could have changed in you?"

"I can't make runes, Clary," Jace said simply. "Though I'm beginning to suspect he changed something in your brother, too. Jonathan is wrong in a way that doesn't make sense, and he said some very strange things…"

Isabelle cleared her throat. "I would think that whatever you know, you might want to keep it secret for now. I don't know much about shadowhunters, but it sounds like whatever is making Clary different isn't good."

"Magnus knows, though," Clary said miserably. "He would probably try to protect me, but I'm sure he's taken some oath of fealty. He'll probably have to tell the Clave about me and Jace and Jonathan." Clary sank onto the bed, feeling very tired; she had hoped that coming here would end her time in the spotlight. It appeared that no matter where she went, it was going to be under watchful eyes.

Sensing this, Isabelle took her hand and gave her a wink. "I'll keep your secrets, Clary. It's not like the Lightwoods are of any interest. We have won no renown for our name."

Clary smiled back. "A day may come when that could change."

Jace, however, was just as concerned as Clary was. Whatever changes Valentine had worked in Clary and Jonathan were going to be of interest, and Jace had no intention of letting his wife be carried off to battle. He recalled the way Luke had talked about what would happen to him and Clary, and how he'd seemed rather angry, and Jace wondered if Luke knew something. Regardless, Jace determined he wasn't going to reveal anything about Clary to any council.

Isabelle quickly turned the conversation away from the talk of the council, and began chatting about the city itself. She had had a few days to explore and deemed the place large beyond thought, with countless secret entrances tucked away all over. She was most impressed by the large school where she hoped very soon she would take up lessons to perfect her reading and writing; she was also hopeful Max would be admitted because he could start young and learn so much more than any adult from her farm town ever could.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Max could actually be someone someday," Isabelle finished, giving Max a squeeze.

"I want to be a soldier!" Max crowed. "I want to learn to fight and kill demons."

"Don't be ridiculous, Max," said Alec, poking his head through the open door. He was speaking to Max, but his eyes were on Jace and Clary. He looked uncertain and worried. "You're going to learn your sums and read and write. It's good to see you up and about, Jace."

"And where have you been?" Isabelle demanded, standing up with her hands on her hips. "You get here, drop Max off with me, and then you're off with Magnus. Least you could have done is told me where you were every night."

"I was busy," Alec said defensively, but his eyes dropped. "Magnus and Luke have been swamped, and I've been offering them my services as they are. It's the least I could do."

"The least you could do? You could have been helping me get our new lodgings in order." Isabelle's eyes narrowed and she smiled tightly. "Well, it's alright. You and Max are sharing a room."

Alec paled a little but then shrugged. "I've come to see how Jace and Clary are doing."

"We're fine, Alec," Clary said with a pleasant smile. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough for being Jace back to me."

"It was all Luke and Maia," Alec mumbled. "But thank you. However, I've come on an errand from Magnus."

Jace stirred and he sat up straighter. "And what does _Magnus the Magnificent _ask of us?"

Alec bit his lip. "He says you've been summoned by the Clave, and it's urgent, so you must come now."

"I don't think I'm in any shape to move," Jace said softly, his eyes glinting. "And, since I can't be there, I don't think my wife should go. I have need of her here. Send my deepest regrets, but I cannot allow my wife to go if I need her tending to me."

Again, Alec looked very uncomfortable. "Magnus already told the Clave you'd be well enough to travel given his potion, and they issued an order for your presence. If you don't appear, they will send someone to bring you."

"I don't really care," Jace said swiftly. "I'm not leaving my bed in this state, and Clary's not going anywhere. You can tell them as my wife, Clary will have to go where I order, and I've ordered her here to tend to me."

"Jace, they're going to send someone to bring you in," Alec pressed. "I understand what you're doing, and I know you care about Clary, but you can't protect her from the Clave."

"I'll do my best," answered Jace with a sly grin. "I'm sorry to send you back to Magnus with my answer, and I hope you don't bear any grief from it, but I'm keeping her here."

Though Alec looked ready to argue, Isabelle gave him a dark look and he smiled helplessly. "I'm no shadowhunter, the Clave doesn't care what I do; I'm just the messenger boy. I just hope this works out."

Jace gave Alec a nod. "What's the worst they can do?"

Alec looked worried, but he left without saying anything else. Clary, who was still seated beside Jace, looked very nervous indeed. "Jace, you should have left me go. What if the Clave is angry?"

"And what will they do if they are?" he replied. "They're not going to throw us out, and it's not like there's some prison they can put us in they haven't already. Besides, they need us, especially you, nice and content or they're never going to get the information they want."

"Sometimes, I forget where we are," agreed Clary, and leaned back against the headboard. She was quiet for a few minutes, trying to reconcile her past with what her future seemed to be, and, with the thought of her future, she turned to Isabelle. "So, Isabelle, tell me, where can I trade these ridiculous gold earrings for some wool? I think these two blankets aren't going to do in the cold nights, and I could knit us something."

Isabelle looked thoughtful. "There's some shops and such a five minute walk or so away. You could probably trade there."

Clary nodded. "You'll have to show me. I've got plenty of things to get rid of; some rings, earrings, maybe even the two ridiculous dresses in my trunk. Do you need anything?"

"I'll have to check. When we arrived they gave us all some clothing, but we could always do with a sewing kit or some new pots and pans." Isabelle glanced as Max whose face was glowing. "And, perhaps, some new shoes for Max before he starts school."

"I'm sure I've got enough for all that," Clary said, eyeing Max's shoes. He really did need new ones. "I wish I had a bolt of fabric, I could make so much with it."

"Perhaps you should look for employment?" offered Isabelle. "I've been asking about, and I think I could find something at the stables or with the farmers. They need quick-footed girls and boys who can harvest the food above ground and bring it back below. Max and I would be good at that."

"That's not a bad idea, Isabelle," Clary said. Her skills with daggers might have been put to better use somewhere else, but the thought of making a life for herself in small fabric shop had its appeal. She would never be short of work, that was for sure. "I don't understand how we all make a living. When we arrived, they gave us rations, but said we'd soon be employed and would have to afford our own food."

"I'll take you tomorrow," said Isabelle. "We'll find a nice little shop for you to work in."

"I suspect that shadowhunters don't make their living in dress shops," said Jace darkly.

"You just don't want to work in one," giggled Clary. "You can work at a forge, Jace, making weapons. You're good enough with a knife."

Jace looked curious, but his answer was cut off by another knock at their door. Isabelle stood and rolled her eyes. "It must be Alec coming to tell you that you _absolutely must _come to the Clave. God, my brother is worse than a spinster." Clary laughed as Isabelle unlocked the door and threw it open, but her laughter was soon caught in her throat.

Both Isabelle and Jace were confused by what they saw because it seemed it must have been some magic trick. Jace tugged Clary closer to him to remind himself that Clary really was still beside him, in his arms, and not standing at the door, hands on hips, green eyes glowing. Isabelle, for her part, was baffled, because though she recognized the woman at the door, she didn't think it was possible. For Clary's part, she was absolutely shocked. Her mind had gone completely blank and she stared with an open mouth.

The woman at the door was a little taller than Jace. Her willowy frame was covered in black pants, boots, and a black bodice tied over a white billowy shirt. She had a mess of auburn hair that had been pulled back into a messy bun, sprouting little strands of red here and there. Her eyes were the same shape as Clary's and just as green, and in them were the warm glow of someone who had lost something precious beyond thought and just found it. She was beautiful and striking at one time, and seemed out of place in the small hovel they had made their home, but when her eyes landed on Clary, she seemed to shrink in pain.

"Clarissa?" the woman said, so softly she might not have said it all.

Clary's hand in Jace's was cold as ice and shaking, but she found her voice, and when she spoke, Clary was pleased to hear it was steady. "Well this place keeps more secrets that my father. Here I was thinking you were dead, Mother"

**This is the end of part one, the story will be continued in part two,**

**Empire of Darkness**

**I really hoped you enjoyed my story, and I'm really grateful to all people who reviewed and liked it, seriously, you guys made me want to write more. I will probably be posting the first chapter of Empire of Darkness after my spring break and my exams, so, about two weeks. Hope to hear from you then!**

**-Cariaudry**


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